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2      <£ 


THE     AMEEICAN 


PARIS. 


BY 


JOHN     SANDERSON 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 


VOL.  I. 


THIRD    EDITION. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED  BY  CAREY  &  HART. 
1847. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S39,  by  E.  L.  Caret  &■  A. 
Hart,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Eastern  District  of 
Pennsylvania. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
T.  K.  AND  P.  G.  COLLINS,  PRINTERS. 


DC 
733 

IT*  I 


PUBLISHERS   NOTICE. 


A  new  Edition  of  "  The  American  in  Paris,"  by  the 
late  John  Sanderson,  having  been  repeatedly  called  for, 
the  publishers  have  the  pleasure  to  state  that  they  have 
arranged  with  his  administrator  for  the  publication  of 
this  Edition. 


s: 


PREFACE. 


London,  August  10th,  1836. 
*****  You  have  no  sooner  a  guinea  in 
London  than  you  have  none.  In  addition  to  the  ways 
and  means  I  pointed  out  in  my  last,  gather  together  the 
letters  I  wrote  you  from  Paris,  and  offer  them  to  the 
booksellers.  There  are  enough,  if  you  have  preserved 
them,  for  a  volume.  Those  from  London  reserve  until 
time  has  made  the  necessary  additions  for  volume  the 
second.  I  had  partly  the  intention,  in  writing  these  let- 
ters, to  dress  them  up  one  day  into  some  kind  of  shape 
for  the  Public.  I  am  not  certain  they  are  fit  to  be  seen 
in  their  present  dishabille — but  leave  that  to  the  pur- 
chaser. A  pretty  woman  slip-shod  is  a  pretty  woman  still, 
and  she  is  not  so  much  improved  as  you  think  by  her 
court  dress.  Tell  the  Public  I  do  not  mean  them  for 
great  things:  I  am  no  critic,  no  politician,  no  political 
economist;  but  only,  as  Shakspeare  would  say,  "a  snap- 
per up  of  inconsiderate  trifles." — Under  this  title  I  have 
the  honor  to  be,  with  the  most  perfect  consideration,  the 
Public's  very  obedient,  humble  servant. 


CONTENTS. 


LETTER    I. 


Havre — Description  of  ihe  town — The  map  seller — Manners  of  the 
people — Law  of  inheritance — State  of  agriculture — Town  and 
country  poverty — Foreign  trade — The  custom  house,  a  school  for 
perjury — System  of  passports — The  French  diligence — Rouen — 
The  cathedral — Joan  of  Arc 13—30 


LETTER    II. 

Paris — Street  cries — St.  Roch — The  Boulevards — Parisian  lodgings 
— Manner  of  living — The  grand  opera — Taglioni — The  public  gar- 
dens— The  Guinguettes — Dancing,  the  characteristic  amusement  of 
the  French — Sunday  dances — Dancing  defended,  from  classical 
authority -  30—49 


LETTER    III. 

The  Boulevards — Boulevard  Madelaine — Boulevard  des  Capucines — 
Boulevard  Italien — Monsieur  Careme — Splendid  cafes — The  baths 
— Boulevard  Montmartre — The  shoe-black — The  chiffonnier — The 
gratteur — The  commissionnaire— Boulevard  du  Temple — Scene  at 
the  Ambigtt  Comique— Sir  Sydney  Smith— Monsieur  de  Paris — 


X  CONTENTS. 

The  Cafe  Turc— The  fountains— Recollections  of  the  Bastille— The 
Halle  aux  Bles— The  Bicetre— Boulevard  du  Mont  Parnasse 

50—76 

LETTER    IV. 

The  Palais  Royal— French  courtesy— Rue  Vivienne— Pleasures  of 
walking  in  the  streets— Cafes  in  the  Palais  Royal— Mille  Colonnes 
— Very'6— French  dinners— Past  history  of  the  Palais  Royal — 
Galerie  d'Orleans — Gambling — The  unhappy  Colton— Hells  of  the 
Palais  Royal— Prince  Puckler  Muskau — Lord  Brougham  —  The 
king  and  queen    --------        76—98 

LETTER    V. 

The  Tuileries — The  gardens— The  statues— The  Cabinets  de  lecture 
— The  king's  band — Regulations  of  the  gardens — Yankee  modesty 
— the  English  parks — Proper  estimate  of  riches — Policy  of  culti- 
vating a  taste  for  innocent  pleasures — Advantages  of  gardens — 
Should  be  made  ornamental  -Cause  of  the  French  Revolution — 
Mr.  Burke's  notion  of  the  English  parks— Climate  of  France 

98—110 


LETTER    VI. 

The  Three  Glorious  Days— The  plump  little  widow— Marriage  of 
fifteen  young  girls — Shrines  of  the  martyrs — Louis  Philippe — 
Dukes  of  Orleans  and  Nemours — The  National  Guards— Fieschi — 
The  Infernal  Machine — Marshal  Mortier  and  twelve  persons  killed 
— Dismissal  of  the  troops — The  queen  and  her  daughters — Dis- 
turbed state  of  France — The  Chamber  of  Deputies — Elements  of 
support  to  the  present  dynasty — Private  character  of  the  king — 
The  daily  journals— The  Chamber  of  Peers — Bonaparte 

110—125 


CONTENTS.  XI 


LETTER     VII. 

The  Garden  of  Plants — The  omnibus — The  Museum  of  Natural  His- 
tory— American  birds — The  naturalist — Study  of  entomology — The 
Botanic  Garden — Cabinet  of  Comparative  Anatomy — The  mena- 
gerie— The  giraffe — Notions  of  America — The  cedar  of  Lebanon — 
Effects  of  French  cookery — French  gastronomy — Goose  liver  pie — 
Mode  of  procuring  the  repletion  of  the  liver    -        •        125 — 139 

LETTER    VIII. 

Burial  of  the  victims — St.  Cloud — The  chateau — The  cicerone — The 
Chevalier-d'Industrie — Grave  of  Mrs.  Jordan — The  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne— Amusements  on  fete  days — Place  Louis  XV. — The  king  at 
the'Tuileries — The  American  address — His  majesty's  reply — The 
Princess  Amelia — The  queen  and  her  daughters — The  Dukes  of 
Orleans  and  Nemours — Madame  Adelaide — Splendor  of  ancient 
courts — Manner  of  governing  the  French — William  the  Fourth — 
Exhibition  of  the  students  at  the  University      -        -        139 — 154 

LETTER    IX. 

Tour  of  Paris— The  Seine — The  Garden  of  Plants — The  animals — 
Island  of  St.  Louis — The  Halle  aux  Vins — The  police — Palais  de 
Justice— The  Morgue — Number  of  suicides — M.  Perrin — The  Hotel 
de  Ville — Place  de  Greve — The  Pont  Neuf— Quai  des  Augustins — 
The  Institute — Isabeau  de  Baviere — The  Bains  Vigiers — The  Pont 
des  Arts — The  washerwomen's  fete — Swimming-schools  for  both 
sexes — The  Chamber  of  Deputies — Place  de  la  Revolution — Obe- 
lisk of  Luxor — Hospital  of  the  Invalids— Ecole  Militaire — The 
Champ  de  Mars— Talleyrand 155—182 


Xll  CONTENTS. 


LETTER    X. 

Faubourg  St.  Germain — Quartier  Latin — The  book-stalls — Phrenolo- 
gists— Dupuytren's  room — Medical  students— Lodgings — Bill  at  the 
Sorbonne — French  cookery — A  gentleman's  boarding-house — The 
locomotive  cook — Fruit — The  pension — The  landlady — Pleasure 
in  being  duped — Smile  of  a  French  landlady — The  boarding-house 
— Amiable  ladies — The  Luxembourg  gardens — The  grisettes — 
Their  naivete  and  simplicity — Americans  sent  to  Paris — Parisian 
morals — Advantages  in  visiting  old  countries — American  society 
in  Paris 182—206 


LETTER    XI. 

The  Observatory — The  astronomers — Val  de  Grace — Anne  of  Austria 
— Hospice  des  Enfans  Trouves — Rows  of  cradles — Sisters  of  Cha- 
rity—Vincent de  Paul— Maisons  d'Accouchement— Place  St.  Jacques 
— The  Catacombs — Skull  of  Ninon  de  l'Enclos — the  poet  Gilbert — 
Julian's  Bath — Hotel  de  Cluny — Ancient  furniture — Francis  the 
First's  bed — Charlotte  Corday — Danton  —  Marat — Robespierre — 
Rue  des  Postes — Convents  of  former  times — Faubourg  St.  Marceau 

207—219 


THE    AMERICAN    IN    PARIS. 


LETTER    I. 

Havre— Description  of  the  town— The  map  seller— Manners  of  the 
people— Law  of  inheritance— State  of  agriculture— Town  and 
country  poverty — Foreign  trade — The  custom  house,  a  school 
for  perjury— System  of  passports — The  French  diligence — Rouen 
— The  cathedral — Joan  of  Arc. 

Havre,  June  29th,  1835. 

We  arrived  here  late  on  Saturday,  so  that  Sunday  and  j 
a  festival  on  Monday  compel  us  to  await  the  custom \ 
house  till  Tuesday  evening. 

Do  not  detain  your  husband ;  I  expect  him  for  the 
latest  in  October.  You  don't  know  how  much  absence 
from  home  and  loneliness  in  a  foreign  country  try  the 
consistency  of  one's  courage.— And  tell  him  to  listen  to 
my  advice  in  preparing  his  voyage.  His  first  step  is  to 
obtain,  by  a  few  lines  to  the  secretary  of  war,  a  passport 
describing  his  features,  dimensions,  titles,  (nose  straight, 
eyes  hazel,  &c.,)  and  if  he  can  add  "  Major,"  or  "  Colo- 
nel," or  some  cheap  American  dignity,  he  will  have  a 
great  many  bows  in  this  country  he  otherwise  cannot 
aspire  to.  I  was  foolish  enough  to  come  over  nothing 
but  simple  "  John."  If  he  brings  the  wife  along,  tell 
him  to  include  her  in  the  same  document — (a  little  black 
vol.  i. — 2 


14  CUSTOM  HOUSE. 

girl,  four  feet  and  something,  having  a  sharp  tongue, 
pretty  enough  mouth  and  teeth,  and  eyes  too  good  for 
her  nose.)  I  don't  ask  pardon  ;  a  nose  is  only  an  im- 
portant feature  on  a  passport ;  faces  can  be  pretty  in 
spite  of  their  noses.  You  don't  kiss  the  book,  so  he  may 
put  down  any  age  your  ladyship  pleases. 

It  is  important  to  choose  a  good  ship.  The  "  Sylvie 
de  Grace  "  left  eight  clays  after  and  arrived  two  days 
before  us.  The  berth  having  least  motion  is  nearest  the 
middle  of  the  vessel.  Your  fare  to  Havre  is  one  hundred 
and  forty  dollars,  with  a  guinea  for  services. 

If  any  lady  of  your  village  has  a  disobedient  husband, 
or  a  son  who  has  beaten  his  mother,  bid  her  send  him 
to  sea. — But  for  particulars  on  this  head  I  refer  you  to 
my  letter  of  yesterday,  in  which  I  have  given  you  all 
that  Sebastian  Cabot  and  other  eminent  navigators  had 
left  out.  "  Travelers  by  sea"  are  certainly  fit  subjects 
for  church  prayers.  I  love  the  clergyman  who  put  us  in 
with  the  ladies  in  the  litany.  Your  consolation  is  that 
the  evil  endures  but  thirty  days,  often  less,  and  it  puri- 
fies the  blood  for  the  better  enjoyments  of  land.  Chil- 
dren, especially  sucking  babies,  are  rarely  sick,  and  wo- 
men bear  the  sea  better  than  men.  Some  of  your  sex 
having  been  born  from  this  element  accounts  for  the 
partiality. 

Let  us  then  skip  over  the  sea.  On  touching  land  your 
passport  is  sent  on  immediately  to  Paris  to  tell  them  you 
have  come,  and  is  restored  to  you  there  in  exchange  for 
a  ticket  you  must  ask  at  the  police  office  at  Havre.  In 
the  mean  time  your  two  shirts  and  a  half  are  paraded 
under  military  escort  to  the  custom  house,  and,  unless 
some  saint  is  in  the  way,  are  forthwith  examined.  If 
you  arrive  the  day  before  the  Millenium  you  have  to 
stay  for  your  portmanteau  until  it  is  over.     This  exami- 


«# 


HAVRE.  15 

nation  might  be  made  on  board,  but  multiplying  duties 
multiplies  perquisites  ;  portage,  entrance  at  the  customs, 
and  portage  again  to  your  lodgings,  enable  them  to  levy 
a  contribution  of  five  or  six  francs  on  each  of  your  pack- 
ages. All  effects,  except  your  wardrobe,  are  subject  to 
duties  and  delays,  and  sealed  letters  to  a  fine.  The  pas- 
sengers, too,  are  sometimes  a  little  examined  ;  so  beware 
of  suspicious  appearances. 

June  30th. 

I  have  half  a  mind  to  describe  this  town  to  you.  It 
has  twenty  thousand  inhabitants  ;  is  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Seine,  and  twenty-four  hours  from  Paris.  The  houses 
are  high,  mostly  of  black  slate,  and  patched  often  till 
nothing  is  seen  but  the  patches,  and  mushrooms  and 
other  vegetables  grow  through  the  cracks.  Villages  in 
America  have  an  air  of  youth  and  freshness  harmonizing 
with  their  dimensions.  Small  things  should  never  look 
old.  This  town  presents  you  with  the  ungracious  image 
of  a  wrinkled  and  gray-headed  baby.  The  streets,  ex- 
cept one,  have  no  sidewalks  ;  they  are  paved  with  rough 
stone,  and  are  without  gutters  and  common  sewers;  the 
march  of  intellect  not  having  arrived  at  these  luxuries. 
The  exception  is  the  "  Rue  de  Paris  ;"  it  has  "  trottoirs," 
a  theatre,  a  public  square,  a  market  house,  a  library  with 
six  thousand  volumes,  and  a  church  very  richly  fur- 
nished :  the  organ  presented  by  Cardinal  Richelieu.  I 
have  been  to  this  church  this  morning  to  pay  the  Virgin 
Mary  the  pound  of  candles  I  owed  for  my  preservation 
at  sea.  The  prettiest  improvement  I  have  seen  (and  it 
is  no  miracle  for  a  town  of  so  much  commercial  im- 
portance) is  a  dock,  cut  in  from  the  bay  along  the  chan- 
nel of  an  old  creek,  which  contains  three  or  four  hundred 
ships,  a  goodly  number  of  which  wear  the  American 


Hi  T1IK  SUBUKBS. 

flag ;  it  runs  through  the  thick  of  the  town  and  brings 
the  vessels  into  a  pleasant  sociability  with  the  houses. 
When  the  tide  is  high  these  vessels  ride  in  their  own 
clement ;  when  low,  you  see  a  whole  fleet,  wallowing  in 
the  mud ;  and  passengers,  to  get  to  sea,  have  to  wait  the 
complaisance  both  of  wind  and  tide,  often  a  whole  week. 

A  little  to  the  north  you  will  see  a  compensation  for 
all  this  ugliness,  in  a  hill,  running  boldly  up  to  the  water's 
edge,  whose  south  side,  several  hundred  feet  high,  is 
smothered  with  houses.  They  seem  to  be  scrambling 
up  the  acclivity  to  look  at  the  town  ;  and  the  entire  sum- 
mit is  covered  with  beautiful  villas,  and  gardens  rich 
with  trees  and  shrubbery,  and  hedges,  which  at  this  sea- 
son are  a  most  luxurious  ornament.  Many  American 
families,  having  grown  rich  here  by  commerce,  are 
perched  magnificently  upon  this  hill.  The  view  from 
the  top  is  charming  !  The  old  town,  in  its  motley  livery 
of  houses,  ships,  and  fortifications,  spreads  itself  out  at 
your  feet ;  on  the  west  there  is  an  open  view  of  the  chan- 
nel, and  all  the  pretty  images  of  a  commercial  port,  such 
as  vessels  in  the  near  and  distant  prospect,  coming  into 
harbor  and  going  out  upon  their  voyages ;  and  on  the 
south,  and  beyond  the  bay  into  which  the  Seine  flows, 
is  a  fine  romantic  country,  of  field  and  woodland,  which 
runs  gradually  up,  undulating  like  the  sea,  till  it  meets 
the  blue  sky.  It  is  charming,  too,  in  the  night ;  for  as  soon 
as  Mercury  has  hung  out  his  lamps  above,  these  Hav- 
rians  light  up  theirs  in  the  town,  and  set  up  a  little  op- 
position to  the  heavens  ;  and  there  you  are  between  two 
firmaments ;  which  of  a  fine  evening  is  a  fantastic  and 
gorgeous  spectacle.  This  is  the  Havre.  It  is  the  first 
thing  I  ever  described,  and  I  am  out  of  breath. 

And  now  the  customs  and  manners.  I  have  had  deal- 
ings with  hackney  coachmen,  porters,  peddlers  and  pick- 


MAP  SELLERS.  17 

pockets,  and  have  found  (hem  eminently  qualified  in 
their  several  departments.  In  strolling  last  evening 
through  the  streets— going  only  to  frank  a  letter  at  the 
post-office,  I  remarked  a  person  crying  maps  by  a  wall 
side.  He  walked  up  and  down  with  arms  folded,  and 
had  a  grave  and  respectable  face  :  "  JL  trente  sous 
settlement  ! — C'est  incroyable  ! —A  trente  sous  /"  I 
wished  to  look  after  a  place  in  Normandy,  called  Helle- 
ville;  the  very  place  where  Guiscard,  and  that  other 
choicest  of  all  ladies'  heroes,  Tancred,  were  born.— Only 
think  of  Tancred  being  born  in  the  department  of  Cou- 
tance,  and  being  nothing  but  a  Frenchman ;  and  only 
think,  too,  of  the  possibility  of  taking  a  piece  of  gold  out 
of  a  man's  waistcoat  pocket  at  mid-day,  the  owner  being 
wide  awake,  and  in  full  enjoyment  of  his  senses.  I  had 
no  sooner  made  my  wants  known  to  this  polite  auctioneer 
than,  with  a  civilite  toute  Fruncaise,  he  placed  the  map 
before  my  eyes— that  is,  between  the  eyes  and  the  waist- 
coat pocket,  and  himself  just  behind  the  left  shoulder, 
assisting  me  in  the  search — "  Hell— Hell — Hell—Helle- 
ville  /"  He  then  resumed  his  walk  and  looked  out  for 
new  customers;  and  1  with  a  return  of  his  bow  and 
smile,  and  a  grateful  sense  of  his  politeness,  took  leave, 
and  pursued  my  way  contentedly,  "  not  missing  what 
was  stolen,"  to  the  post-office.  Here  I  took  out  my  let- 
ter, had  it  stamped,  and  put  my  hand  complacently  in  my 
pocket — I  went  home  very  much  disgusted  with  the 
French  nation.  To  be  robbed  at  the  Havre  brings  no 
excuse  for  one's  wit  or  understanding ;  in  Paris  it  is 
what  one  expects  from  the  civilization  of  the  capital. 

The  porters,  coachmen,  draymen,  boatmen,  and  such 
like,  about  the  Havre,  are  wrangling  and  noisy  to  excess. 
They  burst  into  an  idle  fury  every  few  minutes  ;  remind- 
ing one  of  our  militia  musketry  ;  there  is  a  preliminary, 

2* 


18  MANNERS  AND  CUbXOMS. 

and  then  a  general  explosion,  and  then  a  few  scattering 
cartridges,  and  all  ends  in  smoke.     They  seldom  resort 
to  duelling,  and  boxing  is  considered  vulgar ;  and  as  for 
oaths,  they  make  no  sort  of  figure  in  French.     In  the 
article  of  swearing  we  are  ahead  of  all  other  nations. 
In  their  common  intercourse,  however,  these  people  are 
much  more  respectful  than  we  are  to  their  betters  and 
to  one  another.     Mr.  Boots,  for  no  other  reason  than 
bringing  your  shoes  in  well  polished,  insists  on  your 
"  pardon  for  having  deranged  you,"  and  the  beggar  takes 
leave  of  his  fellow  beggar  with  his  "  respects  to  madam." 
But  these  respects  I  have  heard  do  not  bear  the  test  of 
any  twopenny  interest.     There  is  no  civility  that  stands 
against  sixpence.     This  common  world  is  more  social, 
and  in  appearance  more  joyous  than  with  us.     It  hud- 
dles together  in  public  places,  with  wonderful  conversa- 
tion and  merriment  till  a  late  hour  of  the  night.     What 
a  quantity  of  green  old  age  !  grandmothers  of  sixty  with 
their  hair  en  jjapillotte,  are  playing  hide  and  go-seek 
with  twenty-five.    After  all,  what  signifies  the  degree  of 
poverty  or  age,  if  one  is  happy  ?   Another  thing  remark- 
able, is  the  respect  paid  to  property.     Benches  on  the 
public  squares  are  handed  down  to  posterity  with  no 
other  marks  than  the  natural  wear  and  tear  of  sitting  on 
them  ;  vegetables  grow  by  the  wayside  untrodden,  and 
gardens  and  fields  offer  their  fruit  without  hedge  or  fence, 
or  any  visible  protection.     I  have  talked  these  matters 
with  a  Frenchman,  who  says,  that  it  is  the  last  genera- 
tion only  that  lives  at  this  rate,  and  that  the  present  one 
dies  off  at  a  very  reasonable  age.     The  truth  I  believe 
is  that  we,  in  our  country,  keep  old  persons  inside  the 
house  ;  we  wrap  them  up  and  lay  them  on  the  shelf, 
and  ennui  and  neglect,  no  doubt,  abridge  a  little  their 
duration.     As  for  the  security  of  property  he  ascribes  it 


MAKKE'l   JPEOPLE.  19 

entirely  to  a  certain  shepherdly  swain,  very  common 
here,  who  wears  red  breeches,  and  is  coiffed  in  a  cocked 
hat,  with  one  of  the  cocks  exactly  over  his  nose,  called 
a  Garde  Champetre,  who  watches  day  and  night  over 
the  safety  of  the  fields.  A  curiosity  of  the  place  is  the 
peasant  women  whom  you  will  see  mixed  fantastically 
with  the  citizens  in  the  market,  and  flocking  in  and  out 
in  great  numbers  at  the  town  gate.  Labor  and  the  sun 
have  worn  all  the  feminine  charms  out  of  their  faces,  and 
they  have  mounted  up  over  these  ugly  faces  starched 
and  white  caps  two  stories  high,  in  which  they  encoun- 
ter all  sorts  of  weather;  they  are  seated  on  little  asses, 
a  large  basket  at  each  side,  in  which  they  carry  vege- 
tables to  market,  and  carry  back  manure  for  the  crops 
of  the  next  year. 

The  antiquities.  I  visited  this  morning  a  trumpery 
old  palace  of  Charles  V. ;  also  a  round  tower  built,  they 
say,  by  that  great  tower  builder,  Julius  Caesar ;  and 
returning  through  a  solitary  alley  I  stumbled  accidentally 
upon  a  monument  of  more  precious  memory,  the  birth- 
place of  the  author  of  Paul  and  Virginia.  It  is  a  scrubby 
old  hut  with  a  bit  of  marble  in  front  containing  his  name 
and  day  of  nativity.  Genius  seems  to  have  but  mean 
notions  of  the  dignity  of  birth;  Pindar  was  born  among 
the  vapors  of  Boeotia,  and  St.  Pierre  in  this  filthy  alley 
of  the  Havre. 

The  politics.  The  children  here  are  apportioned 
equally  and  cannot  be  disinherited.  All  the  father  can 
dispose  of  by  will  is  a  half,  third,  or  fourth  of  the  estate, 
according  as  he  has  one,  two,  or  more  heirs.  This  kind 
of  succession  cuts  up  the  land  into  small  patches,  and 
thus  brings  poverty  on  both  town  and  country;  all  the 
families  being  without  capital  to  improve  their  agricul- 
tural resources.     They  have  but  little  to  spare  to  the 


20  CAUSES  OF  POVERTY. 

town,  and  can,  therefore,  buy  but  little  of  its  stores  and 
manufactures;  and  from  inability  to  supply  the  raw 
materials  and  provisions  cheap,  buy  this  little  at  an 
enhanced  price.  In  this  way  the  two  parties  mutually 
beggar  each  other.  Besides,  under  this  system  of  minute 
divisions,  the  farming  population  increases  enormously, 
poverty  increasing  in  the  same  ratio.  Two-thirds  of 
the  French  are  already  fanners  ;  and  in  England,  where 
farming  is  in  so  much  greater  perfection,  the  ratio  is 
one-third.  This  law,  too,  in  rendering  the  children 
independent  of  the  father,  destroys  his  authority  and 
check  upon  their  conduct ;  it  weakens  the  motives  to 
exertion,  which  arise  from  fear  of  want  or  prospects  of 
future  good,  and  is  consequently  unfavorable  to  intellect 
and  morals.  The  English  system  makes  one  son  only 
a  fool,  the  French  besots  the  whole  family.  A  redun- 
dant population  is  the  great  curse  of  all  these  old  coun- 
tries, and  under  this  system  of  subdivision  a  nation, 
unless  the  blessings  of  war  or  the  plague  intervene, 
becomes  as  multitudinous  as  the  Chinese,  eating  dogs 
and  cats, and  potatoes, and  hunting  with  cows  and  pigs; 
a  plough  as  in  Ireland,  becoming  a  joint  stock  possession, 
and  a  horse  belonging  to  a  whole  neighborhood.  The 
French,  in  spite  of  the  Moscows  and  Waterloos,  have 
added  between  five  and  six  millions  to  their  population 
of  1789.  Agriculture,  to  be  sure,  was  improved  by  the 
Revolution — by  the  divisions  amongst  the  peasantry  of 
the  national  domains,  and  confiscated  property  of  the 
nobles— by  the  abolition  of  tithes  and  game  laws,  and 
^by  bringing  the  waste  land  into  cultivation;  but  this 
condition  is  or  must  soon  be  on  the  reverse.  In  America 
the  abundance  of  idle  and  cheap  land  prevents  this 
calamity  for  the  present.  I  have  traveled  a  few  miles 
in  the  country,  and  have  squeezed  what  sense  I  could 


AGK1CU1/1UKE.  21 

out  of  the  peasants.  I  find  that  in  all  branches  of  hus- 
bandry, a  laborer  here  performs  a  fourth  less  work 
daily  than  in  America;  and  in  ploughing  and  reaping, 
nearly  a  third.  The  French  implements,  too,  are  clumsy 
and  bungling;  oxen  are  yoked  by  the  horns;  harrows 
have  wooden  teeth,  and  the  plough,  mostly  of  wood, 
scratches  up  the  earth  instead  of  turning  a  furrow. 

Another  great  evil  in  French  politics  is  the  centraliza- 
tion of  everything  in  the  metropolis.  In  our  country 
each  borough  or  township  is  an  independent  community, 
and  manages  its  concerns  with  scarce  a  sense  of  any 
foreign  superintendence.  An  individual  recommends 
himself  to  favor  first  in  his  village,  then  in  his  county, 
next  in  his  state,  and  finally  in  the  United  States;  and 
none  glimmer  in  the  last  sphere  who  have  not  shone  in 
the  first.  Here  this  condition  is  reversed— there  is  a 
converging  of  all  the  rays  into  one  general  focus.  Paris 
is  the  centre,  and  there  is  none  but  delegated  authority 
anywhere  else.  So  the  French  provinces  are  out  at  the 
heels  and  elbows,  and  Paris  wears  its  elegant  and 
fashionable  wardrobe.  Your  Pottsville  has  a  hundred 
miles  of  railroad,  whilst  the  Havre  transports  the  whole 
trade  of  the  capital  by  a  two  wheeled  operation  she 
calls  the  "  roulage,"  and  her  boats  upon  the  channel 
carrying  on  the  intercourse  between  the  two  greatest; 
cities  of  the  world,  are  about  ecmal  to  yours,  in  which 
you  cross  over  into  Jersey  to  eat  creams  with  mother 
Heyle. 

A  third  reason  of  village  and  country  poverty  is  the 
neglect  of  machinery  by  which  production  may  be 
increased  with  a  diminution  of  labor.  Not  a  railroad 
has  yet  shown  its  nose  in  this  place,  though  it  is  the 
outlet  to  the  foreign  trade  of  one-third  of  the  French 
territory,  including  the"  capital  with  its  almost  a  million 


22  NEGLECT  01'   MACHINERY. 

of  inhabitants.  They  arc  cleaning  their  great  dock  to- 
day with  a  hundred  or  two  of  men  armed  with  spades, 
whilst  a  machine  is  doing  the  same  work  upon  the 
Delaware  with  three  or  four  negroes.  The  economists 
of  the  French  school  reason  thus:  if  this  clumsy  appa- 
ratus is  superseded,  our  workmen  will  be  out  of  employ; 
besides,  it  is  known  that  the  increase  of  consumers 
always  keeps  pace  with  the  increase  of  production,  and 
you  end  where  you  began. — But  you  increase  also  your 
strength.  Yes,  and  the  difficulties  of  government. 
You  give  life  to  a  greater  number  of  human  beings,  and 
little  obligations  have  they  for  the  gift  if  they  are  to  run 
the  risk  of  being  corrupted  in  this  world  and  punished 
in  the  next;  and  the  means  of  corruption  are  greater  in 
a  crowded  than  a  sparse  population;  greater  amongst  an 
idle  and  luxurious  than  a  simple  and  laborious  people. 
The  American  public  was  more  happy  and  virtuous 
with  its  three  millions  than  with  its  ten  millions  and  its 
railroads.  If  this  is  all  true,  then  the  country  which  has 
least  fertility  of  soil  and  least  skill  in  the  arts  of  agricul- 
ture is  the  most  favored  by  Providence;  and  the  best 
system  of  economy  is  that  which  teaches  us  to  procure 
the  least  possible  produce  with  the  greatest  possible 
labor.  The  best  employment,  too,  for  the  laborers, 
would  be  to  plant  cucumbers  in  summer,  and  extract 
the  sunbeams  out  of  them  to  keep  themselves  warm  in 
winter.  I  like  the  system  which  teaches  us  to  increase 
the  sum  of  human  comforts.  I  think  it  is  better  to  live 
in  an  improved  country  with  clean  streets  and  neat 
dwellings,  than  to  have  the  same  means  of  living  witji 
a  destitution  of  such  conveniences.  I  like  even  to  starve 
with  decent  accommodations. 

A    fourth    great  cause  of  poverty  is   the   restriction 
which  these  nations  have  imposed  upon  their  mutual 


CAUSES  OF  POVERTY.  23 

intercourse,  and  the  produce  of  each  other's  industry. 
There  is  a  total  disagreement  between  natural  reason 
and  the  custom  of  all  countries  on  this  subject.  Nature, 
by  giving  us  a  diversity  of  soils,  climates  and  products, 
has  pointed  out  the  right  objects  of  industry,  and  laid  all 
nations  under  obligations  of  dependence  and  intimacy 
upon  each  other,  and  there  is  a  general  struggle  amongst 
all  to  counteract  this  benevolent  design.  France,  for 
example,  has  a  natural  fitness  for  wines,  and  the  land 
producing  this  wine  is  uusuited  to  any  other  culture,  yet 
she  has  so  managed  as  to  keep  her  wine  trade  stationary 
for  the  last  fifty  years.  England  buys  her  wine,  of 
inferior  quality,  from  Portugal  and  Spain,  and  carries  on 
a  greater  trade  with  the  Chinese,  her  antipodes,  than  with 
France,  her  next  door  neighbor.  All  proclaim  the 
benefits  of  foreign  trade,  and  all  legislate  directly,  to  get 
rid  of  their  foreign  customers.  In  what  more  direct 
way  could  France  prevent  the  sale  of  her  wines  to 
Russia,  Sweden  and  England,  than  by  refusing  their 
coal,  iron,  woolen  manufactures,  and  other  products  for 
which  they  have  a  natural  advantage,  in  return  ?  But 
the  great  struggle  of  all  is  to  become  independent ;  and 
yet  the  very  word  implies  the  extinction  of  all  foreign 
commerce.  The  greatest  of  all  national  blessings  is 
assuredly  that  very  dependence  we  are  so  eager  to 
avoid.  We  cannot  become  dependent  upon  a  foreign 
nation  without  laying  it,  at  the  same  time,  under  a 
similar  dependence. — But  in  case  of  a  war?  This  is 
the  very  way  to  make  a  war  impossible.  Men  do 
not  war  against  their  own  interests.  We  are  dependent 
upon  Lyons  for  her  silks,  and  her  petitions  are  now 
pouring  in  daily  against  the  impending  war  with  America; 
and  many  think  they  will  go  nigh  to  prevent  it.  Would 
not  this  war  be  more  remote  if  the  dependence  were 


24  THE  CUSTOM  HOUSE. 

increased  ?  If  I  wished  to  prevent  all  future  wars  with 
France  and  England,  I  would  begin  by  building  a  rail- 
road from  Paris  to  London,  and  removing  their  com- 
mercial restrictions.  Each  country  would  then  improve 
to  the  uttermost  that  industry  to  which  it  is  most  fitted. 
Intimacies,  too,  would  be  improved,  prejudices  effaced, 
and  they  would  become,  at  length,  so  dependent  upon 
each  other,  that  even  should  a  mad  or  silly  government 
involve  them  in  a  war,  their  mutual  interests  would 
force  them  to  discontinue  it. 

Of  all  methods  of  gathering  taxes  that  of  the  custom 
house  seems  to  me  the  worst.  What  an  expensive  ap- 
paratus of  buildings ;  what  a  fleet  of  vessels ;  what  an 
army  of  spies  !  what  courts  of  admiralty ;  and  what  an 
array  of  new  crimes  upon  the  statute  book  !  A  custom 
house  is  a  school  for  perjury  and  other  vices,  and  where 
the  first  lessons  are  made  easy  for  beginners.  There  is 
nothing  one  robs  with  so  little  compunction  as  one's 
country.  It  is  at  worst  only  robbing  thirty  millions  of 
people.  A  sin  loses  its  criminality  by  diffusion,  and  may 
be  so  expanded  as  to  be  no  sin  at  all.  All  the  functions 
of  a  custom  house  are  in  their  nature  odious  and  vexa- 
tious. The  first  injunction  is  to  refuse  the  traveler, 
wearied  of  the  sea,  the  common  rites  of  hospitality  on 
setting  his  foot  upon  the  land ;  to  ransack  even  honest 
women  by  impudent  police  officers,  and  subject  honor- 
able men  to  a  scrutiny  practised  elsewhere  only  upon 
thieves.  I  piqued  a  Frenchman  on  aboard  our  ship  on 
the  venality,  which  I  had  heard  of,  of  the  French  ports. 
He  replied  that  he  had  been  in  the  American  trade  for 
ten  years,  and  accompanied  each  of  his  cargoes  to  our 
ports  for  the  express  purpose  of  not  paying  the  duties. 
Why  nothing  is  more  easy.  "There  is  an  officer  who 
examines ;  we  know  each  other ;  he  knocks  off  the  top 


PASSPORTS.  25 

of  the  boxes,  rummages  the  calico  with  great  fuss  and 
ceremony,  and  the  silks  and  jewelry  sleep  quiet  at  the 
bottom. — Whoever,  he  says,  pays  more  than  ten  per 
cent,  of  his  duties  in  any  country,  is  unacquainted  with 
his  business." 

There  is  another  item  in  European  policy,  the  require- 
ment of  passports — the  cost,  the  delays  and  vexatious 
ceremony  attending  it— that  has  incurred  abundant  re- 
prehension, especially  from  American  travelers;  and 
there  certainly  is  no  other  use  in  such  a  regulation  than 
that  a  set  of  the  most  despicable  creatures  that  creep 
upon  the  earth  may  get  a  living  by  it.  But  when  one 
is  used  for  a  long  time  to  see  things  done  in  a  certain 
way,  one  does  not  conceive  the  possibility  of  their  being 
done  in  any  other  way.  When  I  informed  an  intelligent 
Frenchman  of  forty  years,  that  even  a  stranger  did  not 
carry  a  passport  about  with  him  in  America,  and  that 
we  dispensed  with  all  this  array  of  police  officers  and 
spies,  and  other  such  impediments  to  traveling  and  the 
intercourse  of  nations,  he  inferred  that  there  could  be  no 
personal  security.  That  alone,  he  said,  would  determine 
him  from  residing  in  the  United  States.  When  I  cited 
against  him  the  example  of  England,  he  remained  incre- 
dulous: and  required  the  confirmation  of  a  better  au- 
thority. 

Don't  you  imagine  that  I  am  going  to  treat  you  here- 
after to  politics.  Events  have  not  yet  thickened  upon 
my  observation,  and  I  am  obliged  to  make  use  of  all  my 
resources.  If  I  could  afford  to  send  you  blank  paper 
all  the  way  across  the  Atlantic,  I  would  have  omitted 
these  last  pages :  hand  them  over  to  your  husband. 

The  living  here  is  about  equal  in  the  quality  of  food 
and  price  to  your 'best  houses  of  Philadelphia.  The 
hotels  are  shabby  in  comparison  with  ours ;  the  one  I 
vol.  i. — 3 


26  THE  FRENCH  DILIGENCE. 

lodge  in  has  not  been  washed  since  the  year  of  the  world 
1G5G;  but  the  cookery  and  service  are  altogether  in 
favor  of  the  French.  A  breakfast  is  two  francs,  a  dinner 
three,  and  a  chamber  two.  You  may  count  your  daily 
expenses  at.  a  dollar  and  a  half  in  the  best  houses.  The 
Havre  is  our  first  acquaintance  coming  into  the  conti- 
nent, and  its  history  cannot  be  without  some  interest, 
especially  to  ladies  who  are  just  sighing  to  go  to  Paris. 

Rouen,  July  3d,  1835. 
What  a  curiosity  of  ugliness  is  a  French  diligence.  It 
exceeds  in  this  quality  even  our  American  stages.  But 
the  sacrifice  of  beauty  is  to  convenience  :  it  carries  three 
tons  of  passengers  and  baggage,  with  a  speed  of  seven 
miles  an  hour.  The  covpe,  in  front,  has  three  seats,  the 
inth'ieur  six,^md  the  rolonde  as  many  in  the  rear;  the 
price  decreasing  in  the  same  direction  from  the  whole  to 
about  the  half  of  our  American  prices.  There  are,  also, 
three  seats  aloft.  These  divisions  are  invisible  to  each 
other,  and  represent  the  world  outside,  the  rich,  the  mid- 
dling, and  the  poor.  If  you  feel  very  aristocratic,  you 
take  the  whole  coupe  to  yourself,  or  yourself  and  lady, 
and  you  can  be  as  private  as  you  please.  Each  seat  is 
numbered,  and  the  traveler  has  his  number  on  the  way- 
bill and  in  his  pocket.  A  conductenr  superintends  bag- 
gage, &c,  and  is  paid  extra.  The  team  has  three  horses 
abreast  in  front  and  two  in  their  rear,  and  upon  one  of 
the  latter  is  mounted  a  postillion.  This  personage  de- 
serves a  particular  notice.  He  is  immersed  to  his  mid- 
dle in  a  huge  pair  of  boots,  making  each  leg  the  diameter 
of  his  body ;  and  his  body,  too,  is  squeezed  into  a  narrow 
coat,  which,  being  buttoned  to  the  chin,  props  his  woeful 
countenance  towards  the  firmament,  so  that  he  corre- 
sponds exactly  with  Ovid's  description  of  a  man,  or 


RUAD  TO  KUUKN.  27 

rather  he  looks  like  the  letter  Y  upside  down.  Cracking 
a  whip  he  does  not  regard  as  an  acquirement  but  a 
virtue.  He  can  crack  several  tunes ;  and  in  a  calm 
night  serenades  a  whole  village. 

The  road  to  Rouen,  in  the  diligence,  has  nothing  in  it 
agreeable.  The  land  has  the  ordinary  crops,  but  it  is  a 
wide  waste  of  cultivation,  without  hedges,  or  barns,  or 
cottages.  The  only  relief  is  now  and  then  a  comfortless 
village,  or  a  solitary  and  neglected  chateau.  You  swal- 
low a  mouthful  of  dust  at  each  breath,  and  you  are  dis- 
gusted at  all  the  stopping  places  by  the  wailing  voices  of 
beggars,  old  men  and  women  recommending  themselves 
by  decrepitude,  and  children  by  rags  and  nakedness. 
The  children  often  run  down  the  diligence  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  in  quest  of  the  charitable  sou.  I  soon  got  out  of 
change,  and  then  reasoned  myself  into  a  fit  of  unchari- 
tableness.  They  may  be  unworthy,  and  I  shall  encou- 
rage vice;  besides,  charity  only  increases  the  breed. 
What  I  give  to  these  vagabonds  I  take  from  somebody 
else ;  I  should  otherwise  lay  it  out  in  some  article  of 
trade,  and,  if  all  do  so,  we  shall  only  make  a  new  set  of 
beggars  by  relieving  the  old — reduce  the  industrious  to 
mendicity  by  encouraging  the  idlers.  Moreover  I  can't 
help  all,  and  I  won't  help  any,  or,  if  I  do  help  any,  I 
will  give  to  my  own  countrymen,  and  not  to  these  raga- 
muffin Frenchmen.  In  this  way  you  get  along  without 
much  affecting  the  tranquillity  of  your  conscience.  My 
advice  is  that  you  come  by  the  Seine  and  the  steamboat. 
It  is  a  passage  of  only  eight  hours,  and  every  one  extols 
its  beautiful  and  romantic  scenery. 

Rouen  is  the  birth-place  of  Racine,  and  Fontenelle, 
and  of  Boildieu.  It  deserves  a  passing  notice  on  their 
account,  as  also  on  its  own.  The  residence  of  those 
truculent  old  Norman  dukes,  who  made  the  world  shake 


28  ROUEN. 

with  fear,  and  gave  sovereigns  to  some  of  the  best  na- 
tions of  Europe,  cannot  be  an  indifferent  spot  upon  the 
globe.  Indeed,  we  may  trace  to  it  many  of  our  own 
institutions,  as  well  as  a  good  part  of  our  language.  Our 
terms  of  law,  the  very  cries  of  our  courts  in  Schuylkill 
county,  are  imported  from  this  Old  Normandy,  of  which 
Rouen  is  the  capital.  It  is  a  fantastic  old  town,  with 
earthenware  tiles,  and  enclosed  between  two  mountains, 
having  a  mixture  of  art  and  nature,  which  bring  each 
other  out  finely  into  relief.  One  is  delighted  to  see  town 
in  the  country,  and  country  in  the  town.  Here  is  a 
large  factory  or  hotel,  and  there  a  set  of  gray  and  tawny- 
looking  hovels,  like  a  village  of  the  Potawattomies. 
The  peasants  are  seen  amongst  the  tops  and  chimneys 
of  the  houses,  cultivating  their  fields  on  the  sides  and 
upon  the  summits  of  the  hills,  which  are  arrayed  in  tufts 
of  woodland,  hedges  and  pasturage ;  and  all  the  ave- 
nues leading  to  the  town  are  beautifully  over-shaded 
with  chestnuts  and  elms.  The  Seine,  too,  has  its  fairy 
islands  and  weeping  willows  on  its  banks,  and  winds 
along  through  the  middle  of  the  town ;  and  now  and 
then  a  steamboat  comes  up  the  valleys  with  a  puffing 
and  fuss  that  would  have  made  stare  even  the  iron 
features  of  old  Rollo.  One  can  see  such  a  town  but 
once,  and  no  one  can  see  it  so  well  as  he  who  has  been 
used  to  the  fresh  and  glaring  villages  of  our  country. 
Rouen  has  ninety  thousand  inhabitants,  a  library  of  four 
thousand  volumes,  a  gallery  of  paintings,  and  manufac- 
tures of  all  sorts  of  calico  and  other  cotton  stuffs,  also 
of  linen,  bombasins  and  velvet  shawls.  More  than  half 
the  population  is  engaged  directly  in  these  manufactures. 
My  advice  is  that  you  sleep  here  one  night  instead'of  in 
the  diligence  in  running  post  to  Paris.    In  your  evening's 


THE  CATHEDRAL. 


29 


walk  I  invite  you  to  step  out  and  see  Napoleon's  bridge, 
which  has  in  the  centre  of  it  a  fine  statue  of  Corneille. 

I  went  to  see  that  famous  piece  of  venerable  antiquity, 
the  Cathedral.  You  have  its  picture  in  all  the  "Penny 
Magazines."  Our  guide,  who  knows  it  by  heart,  told 
us  his  tale  as  follows  :  "  Gentlemen,  this  is  the  tomb  of 
Rollo,  first  duke  of  Normandy ;  no  horse  could  carry 
him;  had  to  walk  on  foot;  died  917.— Gentlemen,  this 
is  William  Longsword,  his  son  and  successor ;  was  on 
the  point  of  taking  the  frock  to  be  a  monk,  but  was 
basely  assassinated  by  Araund,  Count  of  Flanders." 
(And  the  devil  a  monk  was  he.)— "  Gentlemen,  this  is 
Pierre  de  Breze,  Grand  Seneschal  of  Anjou  and  Nor- 
mandy; fell  in  the  battle  of  Montlherry,  1467;  and 
this  is  John,  Duke  of  Bedford,  Viceroy  of  Normandy, 
who  died  in  1438.  In  this  tomb,  gentlemen,  (come  a 
little  nearer,)  in  this  tomb  is  deposited  the  Heart  of  Rich- 
ard Cosiir  de  Lion  !  (a  tremor  ran  through  our  bones.) 
His  heart  is  in  this  tomb ;  his  brains  are  in  Poictiers,  and 
the  other  parts  of  him  in  Kent,  in  Great  Britain.  The 
man  who  took  out  his  brains  died  of  it.  This  is  the  last 
man  Richard  killed,  and  he  had  killed  more  than  one." 
Here  our  cicerone  ran  down,  and  his  features,  just  now 
so  animated,  were  suddenly  decomposed  and  collapsed, 
the  natural  effect  of  inspiration.  We  looked  then  at  the 
great  bell,  and  the  organs,  and  the  statues  of  saints, 
most  of  them  mutilated  in  the  Revolution.  One,  with- 
out a  nose,  they  told  us  was  St.  Dunstan  ;  the  devil  and 
the  Jacobins  having  retaliated.  There  is  a  headless 
trunk,  too,  they  might  very  well  pass  for  St.  Denis.  One 
of  the  remarkable  features  of  this  church  is  the  paint- 
ing on  glass,  representing  scriptural  scenes,  of  which 
the  colors  seem  to  have  grown  more  vivid  by  time, 
though  time  has  destroyed  the  secret  of  their  compo- 
se 


30  JOAN  OF  ARC. — PARIS. 

sition.  The  architecture  is  Gothic,  and  the  grandest 
specimen  of  this  order  in  France.  Its  immense  fluted 
columns,  near  a  hundred  feet  high,  and  ten  or  twelve 
in  diameter ;  its  images  of  Christ  and  the  Virgin,  and 
the  pictures  of  the  Apostles  and  Saints,  are  awful  and 
beautiful.  The  lightning  has  thought  it  worthy  of  a 
visit,  and  has  overturned  one  of  its  huge  towers. 

Poor  Joan  of  Arc  !  Here  is  her  monument  in  the 
midst  of  the  market  square,  where  she  was  burnt. — It  is 
a  pedestal  of  twenty  feet  surmounted  by  her  statue. 
Alongside  of  this  trophy  of  French  and  English  barba- 
rism, instead  of  blushing  for  shame,  they  show  you  for 
sixpence  the  room  in  which  she  was  imprisoned.  It  is 
damp,  and  has  only  glimmerings  of  light,  and  is  altogether 
a  horrid  remnant  of  antiquity.     Farewell  to  Rouen. 


LETTER    II. 

Paris— Street  cries— St.  Roch — The  Boulevards— Parisian  lodgings 
— Manner  of  living — The  grand  opera— Taglioni — The  public  gar- 
dens— The  Guinguettes — Dancing,  the  characteristic  amusement  of 
the  French— Sunday  dances— Dancing  defended,  from  classical 
authority. 

Paris,  July  4th  1835. 
When  one  has  traveled  all  night  in  a  French  diligence 
in  the  dog-days,  and  is  set  down  next  morning  in  the 
"  Place  Notre  Dame  des  Victoires,"  three  thousand  miles 
from  one's  home— oh  dear !  one  has  much  less  pleasure 
in  the  aspect  of  the  great  city  than  one  expected.    Voilb, 


MOTIVE  FOR  REFLECTION.  31 

Paris  !  said  the  "conducteur,"  announcing  onr  approach; 
each  one  half  opening  his  eyes,  and  then  closing  them 
suddenly.  Four  gentlemen  and  two  ladies  in  a  diligence 
bobbing  their  heads  at  each  other  about  six  of  the  morn- 
ing, the  hour  in  which  sleep  creeps  so  agreeably  upon 
one's  senses,  is  an  interesting  spectacle.  It  was  cruel  to 
be  interrupted  in  so  tender  an  interview.  Voila  Paris  ! 
was  echoed  a  second  time,  so  we  awoke  and  looked  out, 
except  a  lady  who  reposed  gently  upon  my  left  shoulder  ; 
who  had  seen  Paris  a  thousand  times,  and  never  slept 
with  four  gentlemen  perhaps  in  her  life  ;  she  lay  still,  I 
attentive  not  to  awake  her,  until  the  ill-omened  raven 
croaked  a  third  time  Paris  !  A  French  gentleman  now 
did  the  honors  of  the  city  to  us  strangers.  "  That,  sir, 
is  the  <  Invalides ;"  see  how  the  morning  rays  glitter  from 
its  gilded  dome.  And  this,  which  peers  so  proudly  over 
the  Barriere  de  l'Etoile,  is  the  grand  Triumphal  Arch  of 
Napoleon  ;"  and  he  read  over  the  trophies  —  Marengo  ! 
Jena  !  Austerlitz  !  praised  the  sculpture  and  bas-reliefs, 
and  burst  out  into  a  great  many  tropes  about  French 
victories.  We  now  passed  down  through  the  Champs 
Elysees,  rolled  along  the  beautiful  Rue  Rivoli,  and  ar- 
rived fast  asleep  upon  the  "  Place  Notre  Dame  des  Vic- 
toires."  I  advise  you  to  sleep  at  St.  Germains,  where 
the  steamboat  will  leave  you,  and  come  to  Paris  next 
morning  with  the  imagination  fresh  for  the  enjoyment. 
To  be  wide  awake  improves  wonderfully  one's  capacity 
for  admiration. 

I  stood  and  looked  about,  and  I  felt  the  spirit  of  man- 
hood die  away  within  me  ;  and  every  other  spirit,  even 
curiosity.  I  would  rather  have  seen  one  of  your  hay- 
cocks than  the  Queen.  But,  fortunately,  here  is  no  time 
for  reflection.  You  are  immediately  surrounded  by  a 
score  of  individuals,  who  greet  you  with  hats  in  their 


32  PARIS. 

hands  and  with  great  officiousness,  offering  you  all  at 
once  their  services.  Some  are  exceeding  anxious  you 
should  lodge  in  their  hotels  :  La  plus  jolie  location  de 
tout  Paris — des  chambres  de  toute  beauii  !  and  others 
are  dying  to  carry  your  baggage  ;  others  again  are  eager 
to  sell  you  their  wares,  and  thrust  a  bit  of  soap,  or  a  cane, 
or  a  pair  of  spectacles  in  your  face  suddenly.  I  mistook 
this  for  an  attempt  at  assassination.  Next  I  had  to  bow  to 
my  toes  for  a  lodging.  With  the  address  of  three  hotels 
a  mile  apart,  I  had  to  pick  one  out  of  the  street.  I  ad- 
vise you  not  to  run  about  town  till  your  porter's  charges 
are  of  greater  amount  than  the  value  of  your  baggage, 
but  to  put  yourself  and  your  trunks  in  a  hack,  and  you 
will  have  at  least  a  ride  for  your  money;  besides,  the 
driver  is  limited  in  his  charges,  and  the  porter  is  a  discre- 
tion, and  discretion  is  one  of  the  dearest  of  the  French 
virtues. 

Who  do  you  think  I  had  for  a  fellow  traveler  ?   Your 

old  acquaintance ,  who  has  lost  his  wife  and 

travels  to  dissipate  his  grief.  He  has  not  left  off  saying 
good  things.  He  remarked  that  it  was  a  bad  day  to  go 
into  Paris — the  4th  of  July;  there  would  be  such  a 
crowd.  Recollecting  with  what  jubilee  we  celebrate 
this  day  at  New  York,  he  imagined  how  much  greater 
must  be  the  confusion  in  Paris.  He  feared  we  should 
have  our  brains  knocked  out  by  the  mob.  You  can't 
think  what  advantage  it  is,  for  one  having  little  of  this 
commodity  of  brains,  to  travel  into  foreign  countries ; 
one  grows  into  the  reputation  of  a  wit  by  not  being  un- 
derstood. I  do  not  mean  to  be  arrogant  in  saying  I  am 
better  versed,  at  least  in  our  foreign  relations,  than  my 
companion,  and  yet  I  was  noticed  on  the  way  only  as 
being  of  his  suite,  which  I  ascribe  entirely  to  my  capa- 
city to  express  myself  in  a  known  tongue.   As  he  spoke 


THE  HOUSES. STREET  CRIES.  33 

no  French,  I  was  mistaken  for  the  interpreter  to  some 
foreign  ambassador. 

Paris  is  a  wilderness  of  tall,  scraggy,  and  dingy  houses, 
of  irregular  heights  and  sizes,  starting  out  impudently 
into  the  street,  or  retiring  modestly,  and  without  sym- 
metry :  a  palace  often  the  counterpart  of  a  pig-sty  ;  and 
a  cathedral  next  neighbor  to  a  henroost.  The  streets 
run  zig-zag,  and  abut  against  each  other  as  if  they  did 
not  know  which  way  to  run.  They  are  paved  with 
cubical  stones  of  eight  and  ten  inches,  convex  on  the 
upper  surface  like  the  shell  of  a  terrapin  ;  few  have  room 
for  sidewalks,  and  where  not  bounded  by  stores,  they  are 
dark  as  they  were  under  King  Pepin.  Some  of  them 
seem  to  be  water  tight.  St.  Anne,  my  first  acquaint- 
ance, is  yet  clammy  with  mud  after  a  week's  drought, 
and  early  in  the  morning  when  she  gets  up  she  is  filthy 
to  a  degree  that  is  indecent.  The  etymology  of  Paris  is 
mud  ;  the  etymology  of  the  Bourbons  is  mud,  and  mud 
to  the  last  note  of  time  will  be  Paris  and  the  Bourbons. 

As  for  the  noise  of  the  streets,  I  need  not  attempt  to 
describe  it.  What  idea  can  ears,  used  only  to  the  ordi- 
nary and  human  noises,  conceive  of  this  unceasing  racket 
— this  rattling  of  the  cabs  and  other  vehicles  over  the 
rough  stones,  this  rumbling  of  the  omnibuses.  For  the 
street  cries — one  might  have  relief  from  them  by  a  file 
and  handsaw. — First,  the  prima  donna  of  the  fish  mar- 
ket opens  the  morning  :  Carpes  toutes  fraiches  ;  voilii 
des  carpes  !  And  then  stand  out  of  the  way  for  the 
glazier  :  Au  vilriere  !  quavering  down  the  chromatic  to 
the  lowest  flat  upon  the  scale.  Next  the  iron-monger 
with  his  rasps,  and  files  and  augurs,  which  no  human 
ears  could  withstand,  but  that  his  notes  are  happily  mel- 
lowed by  the  seller  of  old  clothes  :  Marchand  de  drap  ! 
in  a  monotone  so  low  and  spondaic,  and  so  loud  as  to 


34  ST.   KOCH. 

make  Lab  I  ache  die  of  envy..  About  nine  is  full  chorus, 
headed  by  the  old  women  and  their  proclamations  : 
Horrible  attentat  contre  la  vie  clu  roi  Louis  Philippe 
— at  la  petite  chienne  de  Madame  la  Marquise — tgaree 
a  dix  heures — L 'JJrcht'veque  de  Paris — Le  Sieur  La- 
cenaire  —  Louis  Philippe,  le  Prochs  monstre — et  tout 
cela  pour  quatre  sous  !  being  set  loose  all  at  the  same 
time,  tuned  to  different  keys.  All  things  of  this  earth 
seek,  at  one  time  or  another,  repose — all  but  the  noise 
of  Paris.  The  waves  of  the  sea  are  sometimes  still,  but 
the  chaos  of  these  streets  is  perpetual  from  generation  to 
generation  ;  it  is  the  noise  that  never  dies.  Many  new 
comers  have  been  its  victims.  In  time,  however — such 
is  the  complaisance  of  human  nature — we  become  re- 
conciled even  to  this  never-ending  hubbub.  It  becomes 
even  necessary,  it  is  said,  to  one's  comforts.  There  are 
persons  here  who  get  a  night-mare  in  a  place  of  tran- 
quillity and  can  sleep  only  upon  the  Boulevards. 

Paris  and  I  are  yet  on  ceremonious  terms.  I  venture 
upon  her  acquaintance  as  one  who  walks  upon  ice  :  it  is 
the  boy's  first  lesson  of  skating.  I  am  not  much  versed 
in  towns  any  way,  and  this  one  is  ahead  of  my  expe- 
rience. In  my  case  one  is  ignorant  and  afraid  to  ask 
information.  1  did  venture  this  morning  to  ask  what 
general  that  was — a  fat,  decent-looking  gentleman,  in 
silk  stockings,  and  accoutred  in  regimentals.  That  gene- 
ral, sir,  is  Prince  Talleyrand's  lacquey.  Soon  after  I 
inquired  what  house  was  that  barn  of  a  place.  That 
house,  sir,  is  the  Louvre.  So  I  must  feel  the  ground 
under  me.  Yesterday  being  Sunday,  (which  I  found  out 
by  the  almanac,)  I  went  to  St.  Roch's.  I  had  the  luck 
to  hit  upon  the  fashionable  church;  but  the  preacher 
was  the  god  of  dulness.  The  world,  he  says,  is  grow- 
ing worse  and  worse ;  we  being  greater  rogues  than  our 


THE  BOULEVARDS.  35 

ancestors,  and  about  to  produce  a  worse  set  of  rogues 
than  ourselves.  "  The  antichrist  is  already  come."  If 
he  had  said  the  antichrist  of  wit,  anybody  would  have 
believed  him— and  yet  this  is  the  very  pulpit  from  which 
the  Bossuets  and  Bourdaloues  used  to  preach.  The  house 
was  filled  almost  entirely  with  women.  One  might  think 
that  none  go  to  heaven  in  this  country  but  the  fair  sex. 
The  worshipers  seem  intent  enough  upon  their  devo- 
tions, but  the  wide  avenues  at  the  sides  are  filled  with  a 
crowd  of  idle,  curious  and  disorderly  spectators.  Give 
me  a  French  church ;  one  walks  in  here  booted  and 
spurred,  looks  at  the  pretty  women  and  the  pictures, 
whistles  a  tune,  if  one  chooses,  and  then  walks  out 
again. 

They  have  not  spoiled  the  architectural  beauty  of  St. 
Roch's  by  pews  and  galleries.  The  walls  are  adorned 
splendidly  with  paintings,  and  here  and  there  are 
groups  of  statuary;  and  the  altar  being  finely  gilt  and 
illuminated  looks,  magnificently.  When  I  build  a  church 
I  will  decorate  it  somewhat  in  this  manner.  It  is  good 
to  imitate  nature  as  much  as  one  can  in  all  things,  and 
she  has  set  us  the  example  in  this.  She  has  adorned 
her  great  temple,  the  world,  with  green  fields  and 
fragrant  flowers,  and  its  superb  dome,  the  firmament, 
with  stars.  I  walked  in  the  Tuileries  after  church, 
where  I  saw  a  great  number  of  naked  statues  and  pretty 
women.  The  pretty  women  were  not  naked.  I  sat 
down  awhile  by  the  goddess  of  wisdom :  This  is  the  sum 
of  my  adventures. 

Oh,  no!  I  ventured  also  a  walk  last  night  upon  the 
Boulevards,  about  twilight.  How  adorable  is  the 
Madelaine!  While  staring  at  this  church,  (for  staring 
is  the  only  expression  of  countenance  one  pretends  to 
the  first  week  of  Paris,)  a  little  girl,  but  not  a  little 


db  SULTANAS  OF  THE  BOULEVARDS. 

graceful  and  pretty,  presented  me  a  bouquet.  But,  my 
dear,  I  have  no  change.  "  Mais,  qu'est  ce  que  cela 
fait?"  and  she  turned  it  about  with  her  taper  fingers, 
and  fixed  it  and  unfixed  it,  though  there  were  but  two 
leaves  and  a  rose  bud,  and  then  arranged  it  in  a  button 
hole,  showing  all  the  while  her  pearly  teeth  and  laugh- 
ing black  eyes.  She  had  the  finesse  to  gain  admiration 
for  her  charms  without  seeming  to  court  it.  We  now 
walked  on  a  few  steps,  when  we  met  other  women  of  a 
richer  attire,  and  of  very  easy,  unembarrassed  manners, 
who  also  said  very  obliging  things  to  us,  walking  along 
side. 

There  is  a  kind  of  men  in  New  England,  who  cannot 
be  beaten  out  of  the  dignity  of  a  walk;  who  would 
rather  die  than  be  seen  running,  which  is  perhaps  the 
reason  they  won  the  battle  of  Bunker's  Hill.  Nowjf 
you  would  represent  to  yourself  something  very  comi- 
cal, you  must  imagine  my  companion,  straight-laced  in 
his  gravity,  escorted  by  one  of  these  Sultanas  of  the 
Boulevards,  all  betawdried  and  rustling  in  her  silks — 
Man  petit  coeur ! — Mon  petit  ami! — Venez  done! 
At  last  turning  suddenly  upon  her,  with  a  look  and  air 
of  menace  and  expostulation,  he  invoked  her  in  a  most 
solemn  manner  to  depart ;  though  she  understood  not 
a  word  of  the  exorcism,  she  obeyed  instantly;  the  ges- 
ture and  tone  being  significant  enough;  and  she  went 
off,  as  evil  spirits  do  usually  in  such  cases,  murmuring : 
" Pourquoi  me  tenir  done  a  causer,  ce  diable  d'homme  ? 
11  m 'a  fait  perdre  au  moins  deux  messieurs." 

We  now  descended  by  the  Rue  St.  Anne  towards 
our  lodgings,  talking  as  we  went  to  prevent  thinking 
—for  we  are  both  very  tender-hearted,  so  far  from 
home — he  of  his  Yankee  wife,  how  industrious,  how 
economical,  and  how  she  has  resigned  all  the  intercourse 


PARISIAN  LODGINGS.  .',  I 

and  pleasures  of  the  world,  to  teach  the  little  children 
their  catechism  and  their  astronomy ;  and  I  of  our  dear 
little  wives  of  Schuylkill,  so  amiable,  so  cheerful,  tem- 
pering their  duties  with  amusements,  and  not  forgetting 
the  claims  of  society — when  suddenly  we  observed  in  a 
dark  corner,  reached  only  by  a  few  rays  of  a  distant 
lamp,  a  queer  old  woman,  seated,  her  knees  and  chin 
together,  and  rocking  herself  on  a  chair.  She  rose  up 
in  the  face  of  my  companion,  who  knows  no  French, 
with  an  immense  gabble  :  Des  demoiselles  Ires  distin- 
guees  f—jolies  comme  des  anges !  and  instantly  we 
were  hemmed  round  with  a  fluttering  troupe  of  the 
angels;  but  we  escaped  into  the  Hotel  des  Jlmbassa- 
deurs,  and  locked  our  doors  for  the  night.  Please 
direct  your  letters  to  this  house,  No.  64  Rue  St.  Jinne. 

Hotel  des  Ambassadeurs,  July  6th,  1S35. 

I  must  tell  you  how  one  lodges  in  Paris.  A  hotel 
is  a  huge  edifice  mostly  in  form  of  a  parallelogram, 
and  built  around  a  paved  court  yard,  which  serves  as 
a  landing  for  carriages  as  well  as  for  persons  on  foot, 
and  leads  up  to  the  apartments  by  one  or  more  stair- 
cases. In  the  centre  of  the  front  wall  is  a  wide  door 
(a  porte  cochlre)  opening  from  the  street;  and  just 
inside  a  lodge  (a  concierge)  and  a  porter,  who  wakes 
night  and  day  over  the  concerns  of  the  establishment. 
This  porter  is  an  important  individual,  holding  about 
the  same  place  in  a  Paris  hotel  that  Cerberus  holds — 
(I  leave  you  a  place  for  the  rhyme.)  He  is  usually 
a  great  rogue,  a  spy  of  the  government,  and  a  shoe- 
maker ;  cobbles  the  holes  he  makes  in  your  boots,  and 
his  wife  darns  those  she  makes  in  your  stockings.  He 
is  always  a  bad  enemy  and  a  useful  friend,  and  you 
purchase  his  good  will  by  money  and  condescensions. 
vol.  t. — 4 


38  THE  PORTER. 

as  a  first  minister's.  He  lets  your  rooms,  he  attends 
them,  receives  parcels,  letters,  messages,  runs  errands, 
answers  your  visits,  and  fines  you  a  shilling  if  you  stay 
out  after  twelve;  and  his  relation  with  many  lodgers 
enables  him  to  give  you  these  services,  I  am  ashamed 
to  tell  you  how  cheap.  By  proper  attentions,  also,  to  his 
wife,  there  will  come  to  your  bed  every  morning,  at  the 
hour  you  appoint,  a  cup  of  coffee  or  tea,  and  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  lady's  conversation  while  you  sip  it. 
Each  story  of  a  hotel  is  divided  into  apartments  and 
rooms;  that  is,  accommodation  for  whole  families  or 
individuals;  distinction,  and  of  course  price,  decreasing 
upwards.  For  example,  he  who  lives  a  story  lower 
down  thinks  himself  above  you,  and  you  in  return 
consider  him  overhead  below  you.  A  third  story  in 
the  Rue  Castiglione  or  Rivoli  is  equal  in  rank  to  a 
second  story  anywhere  else. 

The  porter's  Lodge  is  a  little  niche  about  eight  feet 
square.  It  pays  no  rent,  but  receives  a  salary,  usually 
of  sixty  dollars  a  year,  from  the  proprietor.  Our  por- 
ter is  a  man  of  several  talents.  He  tunes  pianos  for 
ten  sous,  and  plays  at  the  "  Petit  Lazari"  of  a  night 
for  two  francs.  Indeed  his  whole  family  plays ;  his 
grandmother  plays  the  "  Mother  of  the  Gracchi.-"  He 
takes  care,  too,  of  his  wife's  father,  but  he  dresses  him 
up  as  a  Pair  de  France,  or  a  Doge,  and  makes  a  good 
deal  out  of  him  also.  Besides  he  has  a  dog,  which  he 
expects  soon  to  play  the  "  Chien  de  Montargis,"  he  is 
studying  ;  and  a  magpie  which  plays  already  in  the 
"Pie  Voleuse."  It  is  by  these  several  industries  that 
he  is  enabled  to  clean  my  boots  once  a  day,  take  care 
of  my  room,  and  do  all  the  domestic  services  required 
by  a  bachelor,  at  six  francs  a  month;  and  he  has  grown 
into  good  circumstances.     But,  alas!  impartial  fate,  that 


MONSIEUR  SMIT.  39 

knocks  at  the  Porter's  Lodge,  as  at  the  gates  of  the 
Louvre !— His  only  son,  in  playing  Collin  last  winter, 
a  shepherd's  part  in  a  vaudeville,  had  to  wear  a  pair 
of  white  muslin  breeches  in  the  middle  of  the  incle- 
ment season  ;  he  took  cold  and  died  of  a  fluxion  de 
poitrine  !  '  The  mother  wept  in  telling  this  story,  and. 
then,  some  one  coming  in,  she  smiled. 

One  is  usually  a  little  shy  of  these  hotels  at  first  sight ; 
especially  if  one  comes  from  the  Broad  Mountain.  You 
take  hold  of  an  unwieldy  knocker,  you  lift  it  up  cau- 
tiously, and  open  flies  the  door  six  inches;  you  then 
push  yourself  through,  and  look  about  with  a  kind  of  a 
suspicious  and  sheepish  look,  and  you  see  no  one.  At 
length  you  discover  an  individual,  who  will  not  seem 
to  take  the  least  notice  of  you,  till  you  intrude  rather 
far;  then  he  will  accost  you:  Que  demandez-vous, 
Monsieur? — I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Smith.  Monsieur? — 
Monsieur,  il  ne  demure  pas  ici  —  Que  tu  es  bete! 
exclaims  the  wife,  c'est  Monsieur  Smit.  Qui,  oui,  out 
— au  quatrieme,  Monsieur,  audessus  de  V entresol ; 
and  with  this  information,  of  which  you  understand  not 
a  syllable,  you  proceed  up  stairs,  and  there  you  ring  all 
the  bells  to  the  garret ;  but.  no  one  knows  Mr.  Smith. 

The  houses  here  are  by  no  means  simple  and  uni- 
form as  with  us.  The  American  houses  are  built,  as 
ladies  are  dressed,  all  one  way.  First,  there  is  a  pair  of 
rival  saloons,  which  give  themselves  the  air  of  parlors; 
and  then  there  is  a  dining-room,  and  corresponding 
chambers  above  to  the  third  or  fourth  story;  and  an 
entry  runs  through  the  middle  or  alongside  without 
stopping ;  at  the  farthest  end  of  which  is  the  kitchen  ;  so 
that  one  always  stands  upon  the  marble  of  the  front 
door  in  December  until  Kitty  has  traveled  this  distance 
to  let  one  in.     How  many  dinners  frozen  in  their  own 


40  HABITS  OF  CLIMBING. 

sauces,  how  many  lovers  chilled,  hy  this  refrigeratory 
process! — Here,  if  you  just  look  at  the  knocker,  the 
door,  as  if  by  some  invisible  hand,  flies  open  ;  and  when 
you  descend,  if  you  say  "  Cordon"  just  as  AH  Baba 
said  "  Sesame,"  the  door  opens  and  delivers  you  to  the 
street.  The  houses,  too,  have  private  rooms  and  secret 
doors,  and  intricate  passages ;  and  one  can  be  said  to  be 
at  home  in  one's  own  house.  A  thief  designing  to  rob 
has  to  study  beforehand  the  topography  of  each  one, 
without  which  he  can  no  more  unravel  it  than  the 
Apocalypse.  There  are  closets,  too,  and  doors  in  many 
of  the  rooms  unseen  by  the  naked  eye.  Is  a  gentleman 
likely  to  be  intruded  on  by  the  bailiff'?  he  sinks  into  the 
earth;  and  a  lady,  if  surprised  in  her  dishabille  or  any 
such  emergency,  just  disappears  into  the  wall. 

No  private  dwellings  are  known  in  Paris.  A  style 
which  gives  entire  families  and  individuals,  at  a  price 
that  would  procure  them  very  mean  separate  lodgings, 
the  air  of  living  in  a  great  castle  ;  and  they  escape  by  it, 
all  that  emulation  about  houses,  and  door  servants,  and 
street  display,  which  brings  so  much  fuss  and  expense 
in  our  cities.  To  climb  up  to  the  second  or  third  story 
is,  to  be  sure,  inconvenient ;  but  once  there  your  climb- 
ing ends.  Parlors,  bed-rooms,  kitchen  and  all  the  rest 
are  on  the  same  level.  Moreover,  climbing  is  a  dispo- 
sition of  our  nature.  "  In  our  proper  motion  we  ascend." 
See  with  what  avidity  we  climb  when  we  are  boys ;  and 
we  climb  when  we  are  old,  because  it  reminds  us  of  our 
boyhood.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  daily  habit  of 
climbing,  too,  has  a  good  moral  influence  ;  it  gives  one 
dispositions  to  rise  in  the  world.  I  ought  to  remark 
here  that  persons  in  honest  circumstances  do  not  have 
kitchens  in  their  own  houses. 

It  is  in  favor  of  the  French  style  not  a  little  that  it 


MANNER  OF  LIVING.  41 

improves  the  quality  at  least  of  one  class  of  lodgers. 
Mean  houses  degrade  men's  habits,  and  lower  their 
opinions  of  living.  As  for  me,  I  like  this  Paris  way, 
but  I  don't  know  why.  I  like  to  see  myself  under  the 
same  roof  with  my  neighbors.  One  of  them  is  a  pretty 
woman  with  the  prettiest  little  foot  imaginable ;  and 
only  think  of  meeting  this  little  foot,  with  which  one  has 
no  personal  acquaintance,  three  or  four  times  a  day  on 
the  staircase  !  Indeed,  the  solitude  of  a  private  dwell- 
ing begins  to  seem  quite  distressing.  To  be  always 
with  people  one  knows  !  It  paralyzes  activity,  breeds 
selfishness  and  other  disagreeable  qualities.  Solitary 
life  has  its  vices,  too,  as  well  as  any  other. 

On  the  other  hand  a  comriiunity  of  living  expands 
one's  benevolent  affections,  begets  hospitality,  mutual 
forbearance,  politeness,  respect  for  public  opinion,  and 
keeps  cross  husbands  from  beating  their  wives,  and 
vice  versa.  If  Xantippe  had  lived  in  a  French  hotel, 
she  would  not  have  kept  throwing  things  out  of  the 
window  upon  her  husband's  head.  The  domestic 
virtues  are,  to  be  sure,  well  enough  in  their  way;  but 
they  are  dull,  and  unless  kept  in  countenance  by  good 
company,  they  go  too  soon  to  bed.  Indeed,  that  word 
"  home,"  so  sacred  in  the  mouths  of  Englishmen,  often 
means  little  else  than  dozing  in  an  arm-chair,  listening 
to  the  squeaking  of  children,  or  dying  of  the  vapors;  at 
all  events  the  English  are  the  people  of  the  world  most 
inclined  to  leave  these  sanctities  of  home.  Here  they 
are  by  hundreds,  running  in  quest  of  happiness  all 
about  Europe. 

But  to  return.  My  object,  in  setting  out,  was  to  show 
you  as  nearly  as  possible  my  manner  of  living  in  the 
street  of  St.  Anne.  I  have  a  chambre  de  garqon  au 
second ;  this  means  a  bachelor's  room  in  the  third  story. 

4* 


42  FRENCH  CLEANLINESS. 

As  companions  I  have  General  Kellerman,and  a  naked 
Mars  over  the  chimney  (not  Mademoiselle),  and  a  little 
Bonaparte  about  three  inches  long;  and  on  a  round 
table,  with  a  marble  cover,  there  are  an  old  Rabelais 
and  a  Seneca's  Maxims,  with  manuscript  notes  on  the 
margin,  and  a  Bible  open  at  Jeremiah.  The  floor  is  a 
kind  of  brick  pavement,  upon  which  a  servant  performs 
a  series  of  rubbings,  every  morning  with  a  brush  at- 
tached to  his  right  foot ;  which  gives  it  a  slippery  and 
mahogany  surface.  We  have  a  livery  stable  also  in  the 
yard,  and  several  persons  lodge  here  for  the  benefit  of 
the  smell;  it  being  good  against  the  consumption.  Of 
the  staircase  I  say  nothing  now,  as  I  intend  some  day 
to  write  a  treatise  upon  French  Staircases.  This  one 
has  not  been  washed  ever,  unless  by  some  accident  such 
as  Noah's  flood.  Indeed  the  less  one  says  of  French 
cleanliness  in  the  way  of  houses,  the  better.  Our  land- 
lady appears  no  more  delighted  with  a  clean  floor,  than 
an  antiquary  would  be  with  a  scoured  shield ;  and  there 
is  none  of  the  middling  hotels  of  Paris  that  presumes  to 
be  better  than  this.  I  ought  to  remark  here  that  ser- 
vants do  not  run  about  from  one  garret  to  another  as 
they  do  in  America.  A  French  servant  is  transmitted 
to  posterity.  Our  coachman  says  he  has  been  in  this 
family  several  hundred  years. 

When  one  cannot  travel  in  the  highway  of  life  with 
a  fashionable  equipage,  it  is  pleasant  to  steal  along  its 
secret  path  unnoticed.  A  great  man  is  so  jostled  by 
the  throng  that  either  he  cannot  think  at  all,  or  in 
gathering  its  silly  admiration,  so  occupied  with  in- 
trigues and  mere  personal  vanities,  that  the  good  quali- 
ties of  his  understanding  are  perverted,  and  he  loses 
at  length  his  taste  for  innocent  enjoyments.  But  tra- 
veling in  this  sober  unambitious  way,  one  may  gather 


THE  GKAND   UPERA. 


43 


flowers  by  the  road  side ;  one  has  leisure  for  the  con- 
templation of  useful  and  agreeable  things ;  and  is  not 
obliged  to  follow  absurd  fashion,  or  keep  up  trouble- 
some appearances;  and  one  can  get  into  low  company 
when  one  pleases,  without  being  suspected.  Now  I 
can  wander  "on  my  short-tailed  nag"  all  over  the 
country ;  I  can  get  sometimes  into  a  coucou,  and  ride 
out  to  St.  Germains,  or  stroll  unconcerned  through  the 
markets  and  ask  the  price  of  fruits  ;  of  cassolettes,  mus- 
cats and  jargonelles,  and  of  grapes ;  and  I  can  eat  a 
bunch  or  two  upon  the  pavement,  just  fresh  from  Fon- 
tainbleau ;  and  do  a  great  many  innocent  things  which 
persons  of  distinction  dare  not  do.  This  is  the  life  of 
those  who  lodge  at  the  "Hotel  des  Ambassadeurs." 

Here  are  two  sheets  filled,  with  what  meagre  events  ! 
and  how  much  below  the  dignity  of  history  !  But  I 
console  myself  that  trifles,  like  domestic  anecdotes,  are 
often  the  most  characteristic.  I  will  be  your  Boswell  to 
the  city  of  Paris.  Who  knows  but  I  may  fancy  to  make 
some  sort  of  a  book  from  these  letters  at  my  return  home  ? 
If  you  think  such  a  design  excusable,  pray,  save  them 
from  the  flames.  I  write  them  as  notes  upon  the  field 
of  battle.  They  are  Caesar's  Commentaries  with  the 
exception  of  the  wit. 

July  7th. 
I  went  with  my  Yankee  companion  last  night  to  the 
Grand  Opera  ;  and  at  the  risk  of  being  enormously  long, 
I  am  going  to  add  a  postscript ;  for  it  is  a  wet  day,  and 
I  have  no  better  way  to  beguile  the  lazy  twenty-four 
hours.  They  admit  the  spectators  to  a  French  the- 
atre in  files  of  two  between  high  railings,  and  under  the 
grim  and  bearded  authority  of  the  police,  which  pre- 
vents crowding  and  disorder;  and  whoever  wishes  to 


44  TAGLIONI. 

go  in,  not  having  a  seat  provided,  "  makes  tail,"  as  they 
call  it,  by  entering  the  file  in  the  rear.  A  number  of 
speculators  also  stand  in  the  ranks  at  an  early  hour,  and 
sell  out  their  places  at  an  advance  to  the  more  tardy,  so 
that  you  have  always  this  resort  to  obtain  a  good  enough 
seat.  In  approaching  the  house  persons  will  offer  you 
tickets  with  great  importunity  in  the  streets.  With  one 
of  these  which,  by  cheapening  a  little,  I  got  at  double 
price,  I  procured  admission  to  the  pit. 

Uanalise  de  la  Piece  ;  voild  le  programme!  These 
are  two  phrases — meaning  only  the  analysis  and  bill  of 
the  play,  at  two  sous — which  you  will  hear  croaked  with 
the  most  obstreperous  discord  through  the  house,  in  the 
intervals  of  the  performance,  to  bring  out  Monsieur 
Auber  and  Scribe,  and  the  Donnas.  It  is  probably  for 
the  same  reason  the  owls  are  permitted  to  sing  in  the 
night,  to  bring  out  the  nightingales. — The  opera  last 
night  was  "  Robert  le  Diable," — void  Panalise  de  la 
piece. 

There  was  the  representation  of  a  grave-yard  and  a 
resurrection  ;  and  the  ghosts,  at  least  two  hundred,  flocked 
out  of  the  ground  in  white  frocks  and  silk  stockings,  and 
they  squeaked  and  gibbered  all  over  the  stage.  Then 
they  asked  one  another  out  to  dance,  and  performed  the 
most  fashionable  ballets  of  their  country,  certainly,  in  a 
manner  very  creditable  to  the  other  world.  And  while 
these  waltzed  and  quadrilled,  another  set  were  entertain- 
ing themselves  with  elegant  and  fashionable  amuse- 
ments; some  were  turning  summersets  upon  a  new 
grave;  others  playing  at  whist  upon  a  tombstone,  and 
others  again  were  jumping  the  rope  over  a  winding 
sheet;  when  suddenly  they  all  gave  a  screech  and 
skulked  into  their  graves ;  there  was  a  flutter  through 
the  house,  the  music  announcing  some  great  event,  and 


TAGLIONI.  45 

at  length,  amidst  a  burst  of  acclamations,  Mademoiselle 
Taglioni  stood  upon  the  margin  of  the  scene.  She 
seemed  to  have  alighted  there  from  some  other  sphere. 

I  expected  to  be  little  pleased  with  this  lady,  I  had 
heard  such  frequent  praises  of  her  accomplishments,  but 
was  disappointed.  Her  exceeding  beauty  surpasses  the 
most  excessive  eulogy.  Her  dance  is  the  whole  rheto- 
ric of  pantomime  ;  its  movements,  pauses  and  attitudes 
in  their  purest  Attic  simplicity,  chastity  and  urbanity. 
She  has  a  power  over  the  feelings  which  you  will  be 
unwilling  to  concede  to  her  art.  She  will  make  your 
heart  beat  with  joy  :  she  will  make  you  weep  by  the  sole 
eloquence  of  her  limbs.  What  inimitable  grace  !  In  all 
she  attempts  you  will  love  her,  and  best  in  that  which 
she  attempts  last.  If  she  stands  still  you  will  wish  her 
a  statue,  that  she  may  stand  still  always  ;  or  if  she 
moves  you  will  wish  her  a  wave  of  the  sea  that  she  may 
do  nothing  but  that — "  move  still,  still  so,  and  own  no 
other  function." — To  me  she  appeared  last  night  to  have 
filled  up  entirely  the  illusion  of  the  play — to  have  shuf- 
fled off  this  gross  and  clumsy  humanity,  and  to  belong 
to  some  more  airy  and  spiritual  world. 

But  my  companion,  who  is  a  professor,  and  a  little 
ecclesiastical,  and  bred  in  that  most  undancing  country, 
New  England,  was  scandalized  at  the  whole  perform- 
ance. He  is  of  the  old  school,  and  has  ancient  notions 
of  the  stage,  and  does  not  approve  this  modern  way  of 
"holding  the  mirror  up  to  nature."  He  was  displeased 
especially  at  the  scantiness  of  the  lady's  wardrobe.  I 
was  born  farther  south,  and  could  better  bear  it. 

The  art  of  dressing  has  been  carried  often  by  the  ladies 
to  a  blameable  excess  of  quantity ;  so  much  so,  that  a 
great  wit  said  in  his  day,  a  woman  was  "  the  least  part 
of  herself."     Taglioni's  sins,  it  is  true,  do  not  lie  on  this 


46  THE  GRAND  OPKKA. 

side  of  the  category  ;  she  produced  last  evening  nothing 
but  herself — Mademoiselle  Taglioni  in  the  abstract. 
Ovid  would  not  have  complained  of  her.  Her  lower 
limbs  wore  a  light  silk,  imitating  nature  with  undistin- 
guishable  nicety,  and  her  bosom  a  thin  gauze  which  just 
relieved  the  eye,  as  you  have  seen  a  fine  fleecy  cloud 
hang  upon  the  dazzling  sun.  But  there  is  no  gentleman 
out  of  New  England  who  would  not  have  grieved  to 
see  her  spoilt  by  villainous  mantua-makers.  She  did  not, 
moreover,  exceed  what  the  courtesy  of  nations  has  per- 
mitted, and  what  is  necessary  to  the  proper  exhibition  of 
her  art. 

They  call  this  French  opera  the  "  Academie  Royale 
de  Musique"  also  the  "  Franc-ais"  in  contradistinction 
with  the  "  Italien  ;"  finally  the  "  Grand  Opera  ;"  this 
latter  name  because  it  has  a  greater  quantity  of  thunder 
and  lightning,  of  pasteboard  seas,  of  paper  snow  storms, 
and  dragons  that  spit  fire  ;  also  a  gorgeousness  of  ward- 
robe and  scenery  not  equaled  upon  any  theatre  of  Eu- 
rope. It  is  certain  its  "  corps  de  ballet"  can  outdance 
all  the  world  put  together. 

Mercy  !  how  deficient  we  are  in  our  country  in  these 
elegant  accomplishments.  In  many  things  we  are  still 
in  our  infancy,  in  dancing  we  are  not  yet  born.  We 
have,  it  is  true,  our  "  balances,"  and  "  chasses,"  and 
back-tu-backs,  and  our  women  do  throw  a  great  deal  of 
soul  into  their  little  feet — as  on  a  "  birth-night,"  or  an 
"Eighth  of  January,"  or  the  like; — but  the  Grand 
Opera,  the  Opera  Franpais,  the  Academie  Royale  de 
Musique!  J2h,  via  foi,  e'est  lit  tine  autre  affaire! 
You  have  read,  and  so  has  everybody,  of  the  "  dancing 
Greeks;"  of  Thespis,  so  described  by  Herodotus,  who 
used  to  dance  on  his  head,  his  feet  all  the  while  dan- 
gling in  the  air ;  of  the  "  Gaditanian  girls,"  so  sung  by 


THE  GU1NGUETTES.  47 

Anacreon ;  of  Hylas,  who  danced  before  Augustus;  of 
the  "dancing  Dervishes,"  who  danced  their  religion 
like  our  Shakers ;  of  the  pantomimic  dances,  described 
by  Raynal,and  the  Turkish  Almas,  by  the  "  sweet  Mary 
Montague  ;"  and  finally,  every  one  lias  heard  of  the 
"  Age  of  Voltaire,  the  King  of  Prussia  and  Vestris  " — 
well,  all  this  is  outdanced  by  Taglioni  and  the  Grand 
Opera. 

This  opera  has  seats  for  two  thousand  spectators, 
besides  an  immense  saloon  (two  hundred  feet  by  fifty) 
where  a  great  number  of  fashionables,  to  relieve  their 
ears  from  the  noise  of  the  singing,  promenade  themselves 
magnificently  during  the  whole  evening,  under  the  light 
of  brilliant  lustres,  and  where  the  walls,  wainscotled 
with  mirrors,  multiply  their  numbers  and  charms  to 
infinity. — I  may  as  well  continue  dancing  through  the 
rest  of  this  page. 

Dancing,  you  know,  is  a  characteristic  amusement  of 
the  French,  and  you  may  suppose  they  have  accommo- 
dations to  gratify  their  taste  to  its  fullest  extent.  There 
are  elegant  rotundas  for  dancing  in  nearly  all  the  public 
gardens,  as  at  "  Tivoli,"  «  Waxhal  d'Ete,"  and  the 
"  Chaumiere  de  Mont  Parnasse."  Besides  there  are 
"  Guinguettes"  at  every  Barriere  ;  and  in  the  "  Village 
Fetes,"  which  endure  the  whole  summer,  dancing  is 
the  chief  amusement ;  and  public  ball-rooms  are  distri- 
buted through  every  quarter  of  Paris,  suited  to  every 
one's  rank  and  fortune.  The  best  society  of  Paris  go  to 
the  balls  of  Uanelah,  Auteuil  and  St.  Cloud.  The  thea- 
tres, too,  are  converted  into  ball-rooms,  especially  for  the 
masquerades,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  Car- 
nival. 

I  hired  a  cabriolet  and  driver  the  other  night,  and, 
went  with  a  lady  from  New  Orleans,  to  see  the  most 


48  ANTIQUITY  OF  DANCING. 

famous  of  the  "  Guinguettes."  Here  all  the  little  world 
seemed  to  me  completely  and  reasonably  happy;  be- 
having with  all  the  decency,  and  dancing  with  almost 
the  grace  of  high  life.  We  visited  half  a  dozen,  paying 
only  ten  sous  at  each  for  admission.  I  must  not  tell 
you  it  was  Sunday  night;  it  is  so  difficult  to  keep  Sunday 
all  alone,  and  without  any  one  to  help  you ;  the  clergy 
find  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  keep  it  themselves  here, 
there  is  so  little  encouragement.  On  Sunday  only  these 
places  are  seen  to  advantage.  I  am  very  far  from  ap- 
proving of  dancing  on  this  day,  if  one  can  help  it;  but 
I  have  no  doubt  that  in  a  city  like  Paris,  the  dancers  are 
more  taken  from  the  tavern  and  ginshops  than  from  the 
churches.  I  do  not  approve,  either,  of  the  absolute  de- 
nunciation this  elegant  amusement  incurs  from  many  of 
our  religious  classes  in  America.  If  human  virtues  are 
put  up  at  too  high  a  price,  no  one  will  bid  for  them.  Not 
a  word  is  said  against  dancing  in  the  Old  or  New  Tes- 
tament, and  a  great  deal  in  favor.  Miriam  danced,  you 
know  how  prettily;  and  David  danced  "  before  the  Lord 
with  all  his  might ;"  to  be  sure  the  manner  of  his  danc- 
ing was  not  quite  so  commendable,  according  to  the 
fashion  of  our  climates.  If  you  will  accept  classical 
authority,  I  will  give  you  pedantry  pardessus  la  tete. 
The  Greeks  ascribe  to  dancing  a  celestial  origin,  and  they 
admitted  it  even  amongst  the  accomplishments  and 
amusements  of  their  divinities.  The  graces  are  repre- 
sented almost  always,  in  the  attitude  of  dancing ;  and 
Apollo,  the  most  amiable  of  the  gods,  and  the  god  of 
wisdom,  too,  is  called  by  Pindar  the  "  dancer."  Indeed, 
I  could  show  you,  if  I  pleased,  that  Jupiter  himself  some- 
times took  part  in  a  cotillon,  and  on  one  occasion  danced 
a  gavot. 


ANTIQUITY  OF  DANCING.  49 

There  it  is  proved  to  yon  from  an  ancient  Greek  poet. 
1  could  show  you,  too,  that  Epaminondas,  amongst  his 
rare  qualities,  is  praised  by  Cornelius  Nepos  for  his  skill 
in  dancing ;  and  that  Themistocles,  in  an  evening  party 
at  Athens,  passed  for  a  clown  for  refusing  to  take  a  share 
in  a  dance.  But  it  is  so  foppish  to  quote  Greek  and  to 
be  talking  to  women  about  the  ancients.  Don't  say 
that  dancing  is  not  a  natural  inclination,  or  I  will  set  all 
the  savages  on  you  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  ;  and  I  don't 
know  how  many  of  the  dumb  animals — especially  the 
bears,  who  even  on  the  South  Sea  Islands,  where  they 
could  not  have  any  relations  with  the  Academie  Royale 
de  Musique,  always  express  their  extreme  joy,  Captain 
Cook  says,  by  this  agreeable  agitation  of  limbs.  And  if 
you  won't  believe  all  this,  I  will  take  you  to  see  a  negro 
holiday  on  the  Mississippi. — Now  this  is  enough  about 
dancing ;  it  is  very  late,  and  I  must  dance  off  to  bed. 

It  is  necessary  to  be  as  much  in  love  with  dancing  as 
I  am  to  preach  so  pedantically  about  it  as  I  have  in  this 
postscript.  —  Its  enormous  length,  when  you  have  seen 
Mademoiselle  Taglioni,  wants  no  apology.  When  you 
do  see  her,  take  care  her  legs  don't  get  into  your  head  ; 
they  kept  capering  in  mine  all  last  night. 


VOL.  I. 


50  THE  BOULEVARDS. 


LETTER    III. 

The  Boulevards — Boulevard  Madelaine — Boulevard  des  Capacities — 
Boulevard  Italien— Monsieur  Careme — Splendid  cafes — The  baths 
— Boulevard  Montmartre — The  shoe-black — The  chiffonnier — The 
gratteur — The  commissionnaire — Boulevard  du  Temple — Scene 
at  the  Ambigu  Comique — Sir  Sydney  Smith — Monsieur  de  Paris — 
The  Cafe  Turc — The  fountains — Recollections  of  the  Bastille — 
The  Halle  aux  Bles — The  Bicetre— Boulevard  du  Mont  Parnasse. 

Paris,  July,  1835. 
The  main  street  of  Paris,  and  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable streets  of  the  whole  world,  is  the  Boulevard. 
It  runs  from  near  the  centre  towards  the  east,  and  coils 
around  the  circumference  of  the  city.  Its  adjacent  houses 
are  large,  black  and  irregular  in  height,  resembling  at  a 
distance  battlements  or  turreted  castles.  Its  course  is 
zig-zag,  and  each  section  has  a  different  name  and  dif- 
ferent pursuits;  so  that  it  presents  you  a  new  face  and 
character  ;  a  new  and  picturesque  scene,  at  every  quarter 
of  a  mile.  This  does  not  please,  at  first  sight,  an  eye 
formed  upon  our  Quaker  simplicity  of  Philadelphia,  but 
it  is  approved  by  the  general  taste.  Our  Broadways 
and  Chestnut  streets  and  Regent  streets  are  exhausted  at 
a  single  view ;  the  Boulevard  entertains  all  day.  Its 
sidewalks  are  delightfully  wide,  and  overshaded  with 
elms.  Before  the  visits  of  the  allies  it  had  eight  miles 
of  trees  ;  a  kind  of  ornament  that  is  held  in  better  esteem 
in  European  than  in  American  cities.  Our  ancestors 
took  a  dislike  to  trees,  from  having  so  much  grubbing  at 
their  original  forests,  and  their  enmity  has  been  infused 


THE  MADELAINE.  51 

into  the  blood.  To  cut  down  a  tree  is  now  a  hereditary- 
passion  ;  I  have  often  spent  whole  days  in  its  gratuitous 
indulgence.  A  squatter  of  the  back  woods  begins  by- 
felling  the  trees  indiscriminately  ;  and  he  is  most  honored, 
as  those  first  Germans  we  read  of  in  Ceesar,  who  has 
made  the  widest  devastation  around  his  dwelling.  Your 
Pottsville,  which  ten  years  ago  was  a  forest,  has  to-day 
not  a  fig  leaf  to  cover  its  nakedness. 

Here  is  a  gentleman  just  going  to  Philadelphia,  who 
will  hand  you  this  letter;  I  send  also  a  map  of  Paris, 
that  I  may  have  your  company  on  such  rambles  as  1 
may  chance  to  take  through  the  capital.  To-day  I  in- 
vite you  to  walk  upon  the  Boulevards. 

On  the  west  end  is  the  Madelaine  in  full  view  of 
the  street.  While  the  other  monuments  of  Paris  are 
"dim  with  the  mist  of  years,"  this  stands  like  a  new 
dressed  bride  in  white  and  glowing  marble ;  its  archi- 
tecture fresh  from  the  age  of  Pericles.  This  church 
became  pagan  in  the  Revolution ;  it  was  for  a  while 
the  "  Temple  of  Glory,"  and  has  returned  to  the  true 
Catholic  faith.  Three  mornings  of  the  week,  you  will 
find  at  its  feet  half  an  acre  in  urns,  baskets  and  hedges, 
of  all  that  nature  has  prettiest  in  her  magazine  of  flow- 
ers; delighting  the  eye  by  their  tasteful  combination 
of  colors,  and  embalming  the  air  with  their  fragrance. 
I  am  sorry  you  are  not  a  gentleman,  I  could  describe 
to  you  so  feelingly  the  flower  girl— her  fichu  too  nar- 
row by  an  inch ;  her  frock  rumpled  and  disordered,  and 
hung  upon  her  as  if  by  the  graces.  Her  laughing  eyes 
emulate  the  diamond  ;  and  love  has  pressed  his  two 
fingers  upon  her  brunette  cheeks.  This  is  the  Boule- 
vard Madelaine.  On  the  south  side  a  sad  looking 
garden  occupies  its  whole  length.  I  asked  of  a  French- 
man whose  it  was ;  he  says  "  it  is  the  Minister  of  Strange 


DZ  M.  THIERS. 

Affairs."  It  is  the  hotel  of  Monsieur  Thiers,  who  wrote 
a  book  about  the  Revolution,  and  a  "  Treatise  upon 
Wigs,"  and  is  now  Minister  des  affaires  etrangtres. 
I  do  not  like  him,  this  Mr.  Thiers.  1  experienced  yes- 
terday some  impudence  and  pertness  from  one  of  the 
clerks  of  his  office  ;  and  these  underlings,  you  know,  re- 
present usually  the  qualifications  of  their  masters  in  such 
particulars. 

To  leave  Paris  for  London  requires  your  passport 
to  be  signed  at  the  Police  Office,  at  the  American  and 
English  Ambassadors,  and  at  the  French  Minister's. 
At  the  first  office  you  are  set  down  with  a  motley  crew 
upon  a  bench,  and  there  you  sit,  like  one  of  those  Vir- 
tues in  front  of  the  "  Palais  Bourbon,"  often  an  hour 
or  two,  until  your  name  is  called  ;  and  when  it  is  called 
you  don't  recognize  it,  and  you  keep  sitting  on  unless 
provided  with  an  interpreter.  There  is  not  anything 
in  nature  so  unlike  itself  as  one's  name  Frenchified — 
even  a  monosyllable.  As  for  "John,"  it  changes  gen- 
ders altogether,  and  becomes  "  Jean"  To  the  last  three 
officers  you  pay  the  valedictory  compliment  of  thirty 
francs,  and  get  their  impudence  into  the  bargain.  You 
will  always  find  persons  about  your  lodgings,  called 
"fucteurs"  (they  should  be  called  benefactors,)  who 
will  do  all  this  for  you,  for  a  small  consideration,  much 
better  than  you  can  do  it  yourself. 

You  are  now  on  the  Boulevard  des  Capucines.  It 
is  raised  about  thirty  feet,  and  the  houses  on  the  left 
side  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  are  left  in  the  valley.  All 
the  high  life  here  is  below  stairs.  On  the  right  side, 
you  see  apparently  one  of  the  happiest  of  human  beings, 
the  "marchand  des  chiens,"  who  sells  little  dogs  and 
parrots.  "«#  six  francs  tna  canichel" — "  Mar got  tt 
dice  francs  /" — with  a  gentle  voice,  half  afraid  some  one 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAREME. 


53 


might  hear  him ;  he  has  become  attached  to  his  animals, 
and  feels  a  sorrow  to  part  with  them.  He  feels  as  you 
for  your  chickens  yon  have  fed  every  day,  when  you 
must  kill  them  for  dinner.  Poor  little  Azor,  and  Zemire  ! 
Only  think  of  seeing  them  no  more  !  He  sells  them  a 
few  francs  cheaper,  when  the  purchaser  is  rich  and 
likely  to  treat  them  well.  The  French,  especially  the 
women,  dote  upon  dogs  beyond  the  example  of  all 
other  nations,  and  yet  have  the  nastiest  race  of  curs  upon 
the  earth.  A  dog,  they  say,  loves  his  master  the  more 
he  is  a  vagabond,  and  the  French,  in  return,  love  their 
dogs  the  more  they  are  shabby.  What  I  would  give 
for  a  few  of  those  eloquent  bow  woivs,  which  resound  in 
the  night  from  an  American  barn-yard,  and  which  pro- 
tect so  securely  one's  little  wife  from  the  thieves  and 
the  lovers  while  the  husband  is  wandering  in  foreign 
lands ! 

Take  off  your  hat ;  this  is  one  of  the  choice  and  pre- 
eminent spots  of  the  French  capital ;  the  very  seat  al- 
most of  the  pleasures  and  amusements  of  Europe  ;  it  is 
the  Boulevard  Italian.  It  is  here  that  gentlemen 
and  ladies,  when  the  labors  of  the  day  have  closed,  and 
not  a  care  intrudes  to  distract  the  mind  from  the  great 
business  of  deglutition  and  digestion,  assemble  of  an 
evening  to  discuss  the  immense  importance  of  a  good 
dinner.  Men  make  splendid  reputations  here  which 
live  after  them  by  the  invention  of  a  single  soup.  It  is 
here  they  make  the  sauces  in  which  one  might  eat  his 
own  grandfather.  This  place  was  respected  by  the 
Holy  Alliance;  and  Lord  Wellington,  in  1815,  pitched 
his  Marquee  upon  the  Boulevard  Italien. 

It  is  in  vain  to  expect  perfection  in  an  art  unless 
we  honor  those  who  exercise  its  functions.  Monsieur 
Careme,  (whom  I  mention  for  the  sake  of  honor,  and 

5* 


54  IMPORTANCE  OF  COOKERY. 

who  lives  close  by  here  in  the  Rue  Lafitte,)  now  cook 
to  the  Baron  Rothschild  and  ex-cook  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  is  one  of  the  most  considerable  persons  of  this 
age  ;  holding  a  high  gentlemanly  rank,  and  living  in  an 
enviable  condition  of  opulence  and  splendor.    He  keeps 
his  carriage,  takes  his  airings  of  an  evening,  has  his 
country  seat,  and  his  box  at  the  opera;  and  has,  indeed, 
every  attribute  requisite  to  make  a  gentleman  in  almost 
any  country.     The  number  of  officers  attached  to  his 
staff  is  greater  than  of  any  general  of  the  present  regime; 
his  assistant  roaster  has  a  salary  above  our  President 
of  the  United  States.     It  is  by  this  honorable  recom- 
pense of  merit  that  through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  her 
various  fortunes,  France  has  still  maintained  unimpaired 
her  great  prerogative  of  teaching  the  nations  how.to  cook. 
Monsieur  de  Careme  is  worthy  a  particular  notice. 
He  had  an  ancestor  who  was  «  chef  de  cuisine"  of  the 
Vatican,  and  invented  a  soupe  maigre  for  his  Holiness; 
and  another,  who  was  cook  to  the  Autocratrixof  all  the 
Russias.     How  talents  do  run  in  some  families!     Him- 
self, having  served  an  apprenticeship  under  an  eminent 
artist  of  the  Boulevard  Italien,  he  invented  a  sauce 
piquanle,  when  quite  a  young  man;  and  by  a  regular 
cultivation  of  his  fine  natural  powers,  he  has  reached  a 
degree  of  perfection  in  his  art,  which  has  long  since  set 
envy  and  rivalship  at  defiance.     The  truth  is  that  a 
great  cook  is  as  rare  a  miracle  as  a  great  poet.     It  is 
well  known  that  Claude  Lorraine  could  not  succeed  in 
pastry  with  all  his  genius. 

"  Et  Balzac  et  Malherbe,  si  savans  en  bon  mots, 
En  cuisine  peut-etre  n'aurait  ete  que  des  sots." 

To   whom,  think   you,  does  the   British   nation   owe 
those  Attic  suppers,  those  feasts  of  the  gods,  which  so 


EVENING  PROMENADES.  55 

surprised  the  allied  monarchs,  and  brought  so  much 
glory  upon  his  late  majesty?  To  Monsieur  de  Careme ; 
and  to  whom  do  you  think  the  Baron  Rothschild  owes 
those  clear  and  unclouded  faculties  with  which  he  out- 
financiers  all  Europe  and  America  ?  Certes,  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Careme.  All  the  Baron  has  to  do  is  to  dine ; 
digestion  is  done  by  his  cook.  Careme  has  refused 
invitations  to  nearly  every  European  court;  and  it  was 
only  upon  the  most  urgent  solicitations  that  he  consented 
to  reside  eight  months  at  Carlton  House;  a  portion  of 
his  life  upon  which  he  looks  back  with  much  displeasure 
and  repentance,  and  the  remnant  of  his  dayt  he  designs 
to  consecrate  with  the  greater  zeal  on  this  account  to 
the  honor  and  interests  of  his  native  country.  He  is 
now  preparing  a  digest  of  his  art,  after  the  manner  of 
the  Code  Napoleon;  and  eminent  critics,  to  whom  he 
has  communicated  his  work,  pronounce  it  excellent  both 
for  its  literary  and  culinary  merits. 

To  this  Boulevard,  also,  the  sweetmeat  part  of  the  cre- 
ation resort  about  twilight  to  their  creams  and  lemon- 
ades and  eau  sucree.  They  seat  themselves  upon  both 
margins  of  the  trottoir  upon  chairs,  leaving  an  interval 
between  for  the  successive  waves  of  pedestrians,  who 
are  also  attracted  hither  by  the  fashion  and  elegance  of 
the  place.  How  charming,  of  a  summer  evening,  to  sit 
you  down  here  upon  one  chair  and  put  your  feet  upon 
another,  and  look  whole  hours  away  upon  this  little 
world;  or  to  walk  up  and  down  and  eye  the  double  row 
of  belles  seated  amidst  the  splendor  of  the  gas-lamps, 
and  who  seem  very  sorry  not  to  have  lived  at  the  Rape 
of  the  Sabines.  In  this  group  are  examples  of  nearly 
all  that  is  extant  of  the  human  species.  I  have  seen  a 
Bedouin  of  the  Mer  Rouge  stumble  upon  a  great 
ambassador  from  the  Neva;  and  a  Mandarin  of  the 


56  TORTONl's. 

Loo-koo  run  foul  of  an  ex-schoolmaster  of  the  Mahan- 
tongo.  If  any  one  is  missing  from  your  mines  of 
Shamoken,  come  hither,  and  you  will  find  him  seated  on 
a  straw-bottomed  chair  on  the  Boulevard  Italien. 

These  splendid  cafes  are  multiplied  by  mirrors,  and 
being  open,  or  separated  only  by  panels  of  glass,  ap- 
pear to  form  but  a  single  tableau  with  the  street,  and 
those  outside  and  in,  seem  parts  of  the  same  company. 
I  recommend  you  the  Cafe  de  Paris,  the  Cafe  Hardi, 
the  Cafe  Veron,  if  you  wish  to  mix  with  the  fashion- 
able and  merry  world.  If  with  the  business  world;  with 
the  great  bankers,  the  millionaires,  the  noblesse  de  la 
Bourse,  who  smooth  their  cares  with  fat  dinners  and 
good  wines,  where  else  in  the  world  should  you  go  but 
to  Toy^tonVs?  There  are  not  two  Tortonis  upon  the 
earth.  A  dinner  you  may  get  at  the  Rocher  Cancale, 
but  a  breakfast ! — it  is  to  be  had  nowhere  in  all  Europe 
out  of  Tortoni's.  The  ladies  of  high  and  fashionable 
life  stop  here  before  the  door,  and  are  served  with  ices 
by  liveried  waiters  elegantly  in  their  barouches;  they 
cannot  think  of  venturing  in,  there  are  so  many  more 
gentlemen  outside.  You  will  see  here,  both  in  and  out, 
the  most  egregious  cockneys  of  Europe,  the  beaux 
Brummels  and  the  beaux  Nashes,  the  "Flashes,"  and 
"  Full-Swells"  of  London  town,  and  in  elegant  apposi- 
tion, the  Parisian  exquisites.  Was  there  ever  anything 
so  beautiful  ! — No,  d'Aonnewr.  His  boots  are  of  Evrat, 
his  coat  Staub,  vest  Moreau,  gloves  and  cravat  Walker, 
and  hat  Bandoni ;  and  Mrs.  Frederic  is  his  washerwo- 
man !  You  will  please  give  the  superiority  to  the 
French.  To  make  an  elegant  fop  is  more  than  the 
barber's  business;  nature  herself  must  have  a  finger  in 
the  composition.     Besides,  if  a  man  is  born  a  fool,  he  is 


PARISIAN   BATHS.  57 

a  greater  fool  in  Paris  than  elsewhere,  there  are  such 
opportunities  for  acquirement. 

These  are  the  French  people.  Don't  you  hate  to  see 
so  many  ninnies  in  mustaches  ?  If  I  had  not  the  great 
Marlborough,  and  Bonaparte,  and  Apollo,  on  my  side, 
all  three  un whiskered,  I  would  go  home  in  the  next 
packet.  The  moment  one  has  made  one's  debut  here 
in  the  world  of  beards,  one  is  a  man,  and  there  is  no 
manhood,  founded  on  any  other  pretensions,  that  can 
dispense  with  this  main  qualification.  It  is  the  one  emi- 
nent criterion  of  all  merit ;  it  is  a  diploma ;  a  bill  of 
credit  as  current  as  in  the  days  of  Albuquerque  ;  it  is  pro- 
motion in  the  army,  in  the  diplomacy,  even  in  the  church  ; 
you  cannot  be  a  saint  without  this  grisly  recommenda- 
tion. One  loves  the  women  just  because  they  have  no 
beards  on  their  faces. 

Otherwise — a  la  barbe  prhs — the  French  are  well 
enough.  It  is  the  same  kind  of  population,  nearly,  that 
one  meets  by  the  gross  in  New  York  and  everywhere 
else.  I  looked  about  for  Monsieur  Dablancour,  but 
could  see  nothing  of  him.  In  a  foreign  country  a  man 
is  always  a  caricature  of  himself.  The  French  are  here 
in  their  own  element,  and  swim  in  it  naturally.  One  is 
always  awkward  from  the  very  sense  of  not  knowing 
foreign  customs  ;  and  always  ridiculous  abroad  because 
every  thing  is  ridiculous  which  departs  from  common  and 
inveterate  habit,  and  nothing  is  ridiculous  which  conforms 
with  it.  In  a  nation  of  apes  it  is  becoming  to  be  an  ape. 
If  you  place  a  man  of  sense  in  a  company  of  fools,  it  is 
the  man  of  sense  who  is  embarrassed  and  looks  foolish. 
If  one  traveled  into  Timbuctoo  I  presume  one  would 
feel  very  foolish  for  being  white. 

But  this  is  not  all  that  is  worth  your  attention  on  the 
Boulevard  Italien.     If  you  love  baths  of  oriental  luxury, 


58  PRETTY  SHOP  WOMEN. 

here  are  the  Bains  Chinois  just  opposite.  Personal 
cleanliness  is  the  French  virtue  par  excellence.  Bathing 
in  other  countries  is  a  luxury,  in  France  a  necessity. 
Hot  baths  as  good  as  yours  at  Swaim's  are  at  fifteen 
sous.  The  Bains  Vigiers,  at  twenty  sous  a  bath,  made 
their  proprietor  a  count.  You  can  have  baths  here  sim- 
ple and  compound,  inodorous  and  aromatic,  with  cold  or 
warm,  or  clarified  or  Seine  water  ;  and  you  have  them 
with  naked  floors  and  ungarnished  walls,  and  with  all 
the  luxury  of  tapestry  and  lounges;  baths  double  and 
single,  with  and  without  attendance,  with  a  whole  skin, 
or  flayed  alive  with  friction.  And  besides  these  baths 
ordinary  and  extraordinary — Russian,  Turkish,  and  Chi- 
nese— you  have  baths  specific  against  all  human  infirm- 
ities; baths  alcalic,  sulphurous,  fumigatory,  oleaginous, 
and  antiphlogistic.  All  the  mineral  waters  of  Europe 
pour  themselves  at  your  feet  in  the  middle  of  Paris.  Spa, 
Seltzer,  Barege,  Aix-la-chapelle  and  Ginsnack  ;  manu- 
factured, every  one  of  them,  in  the  street  of  the  Univer- 
sity, Gros  Caillou,  No.  21.  And  this  is  not  all;  there  is 
the  "ambulatory  bath,"  which  walks  into  your  bedside, 
and  embracing  you,  walks  out  again  at  thirty  sous. 
C'est  tin  vraipays  de  Cocagne,  que  ce  Paris. 

And  if  you  love  gewgaws,  gingumbobs,  and  pretty 
shop  girls,  why,  here  they  are  at  the  Bazaar.  The 
French  take  care,  as  no  other  people,  to  furnish  such 
places  with  pretty  women,  and  they  turn  their  influence, 
as  women,  to  the  account  of  the  shop.  The  English,  I 
have  heard,  put  all  their  deformities  into  their  bazaars, 
that  customers,  they  say,  may  attend  to  the  other  mer- 
chandise. The  French  way  is  the  more  sensible.  I 
have  been  ruined  already  several  times  by  the  same  shop 
girl —  caressing  and  caressing  each  of  one's  fingers,  as 
she  tries  on  a  pair  of  gloves  one  don't  want. 


ARTICLES  OF  MERCHANDIZE.  59 

Or  if  you  love  the  fine  arts,  where  are  all  the  print- 
shops  of  Paris  ?  Why,  here.  You  can  buy  here  Calyp- 
sos  and  Cleopatras  all  naked,  with  little  French  faces ; 
and  Scipios  and  Caesars,  and  other  marshals  of  the  Em- 
pire, from  any  price  down  to  three  sous  a  piece.  Fi- 
nally, if  you  love  the  best  pates  in  this  world,  we  will 
just  step  over  into  the  Passage  Panorama  to  Madame 
Felix's — Sweet  Passage  Panorama  !  How  often  have 
I  walked  up  and  down  beneath  the  crystal  roof  as  the 
dusky  evening  came  on,  with  arms  folded,  and  in  the 
narcotic  influence  of  a  choice  Havana,  forgotten  all — all 
but  that  a  yawning  gulf  lies  between  me  and  my  friends 
and  native  country. 

Give  a  sou  to  this  little  Savoyard  with  the  smiling 
face,  who  sweeps  the  crossings.  "  Jlh,  Madame,  re- 
gardez  dans  votre  petite  poche  si  vons  n'avez  pas  tin 
petit  sou  a  me  donner  /"  How  can  you  refuse  him  ? 
If  you  do,  he  will  make  you  just  the  same  thankful  bow 
in  the  best  forms  of  French  courtesy. 

We  are  now  on  the  Boulevard  Montmartre.  Here 
are  cashmeres  and  silks  from  Arabia ;  merinos  veritable 
barbe  de  Pacha,  chalys,  a  mousseline  Thibet,  Pondi- 
cherry,  unis  et  broche,  and  pocket  handkerchiefs  at  two 
sous. — Ah,  come  along  !  And  here  are  six  pairs  of 
ladies'  legs,  showing  at  the  window  the  silk  stocking. 
How  gracefully  gartered  !  And  from  above  how  the 
white  curtain  falls  down  modestly  in  front  almost  to  the 
knee.  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry  ! — they  are  twice  as 
natural  as  living  legs  !  And  here  are  dolls  brevetted  by 
the  king,  and  milliners  aprix  fixe,  at  a  fixed  price,  and 
here  is  M.  J)ulosq,fabricant  de  sac  en  papier,  manu- 
facturer of  little  paper-bags-to-put-pepper-in  to  his  ma- 
jesty ;  and  Madame  Raggi,  who  lets  out  Venuses  and 
other  goddesses  to  the  drawing-schools,  at  two  sous  an 


60  THE  MODERN  SHOPKEEPER. 

hour.  And  look  at  this  shop  of  women's  ready-made 
articles.  Here  one  can  be  dressed  cap-a-pie  for  four 
francs  and  eleven  centimes — (three-quarters  of  a  dollar,) 
— frock,  petticoat,  fichu,  bonnet,  stockings  and  chemise  ! 
—  I  should  like  to  see  any  woman  go  naked  in  Paris. 
A  student,  also, can  buy  here  a  library  on  the  street.from 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  books,  at  six  sous  a  volume.  I 
have  just  bought  Rousseau  in  calf,  octavo,  at  ten  sous  ! 

Since  the  last  Revolution  commerce  has  taken  a  new 
spirit ;  the  bourgeois  blood  lias  got  uppermost.  The 
greatest  barons  now  are  the  Rothschilds,  and  the  great- 
est ministers  the  Lafittes.  The  style,  too,  has  risen  to 
the  level  of  the  new  bureaucratic  nobility.  The  shop- 
keeper of  these  times  is  at  your  service,  a  commere,ant, 
his  "  boutique"  is  a  magazin,  his  "  contoir"  his  bureau, 
and  his  "  pratique"  his  clientelle.  Even  the  signs,  as 
you  see,  speak  a  magnificent  language.  It  is  the  "Maga- 
zin du  Doge  de  Venise"  or  "  Magazin  du  Zodiaque" 
— "  des  Vepres  Siciliennes,"  or  "  Grand  Magazin  de 
Nouveaute."  And  if  the  Doge  of  Venice  is  "  selling  out 
cheap,"  the  language  is  of  course  worthy  of  a  Doge  ;  it 
is  u  au  rabais  par  cessation  de  commerce."  The 
Bourse  is  now  a  monument  of  the  capital,  and  disputes 
rank  with  the  Louvre.  The  "  petit  Marquis"  is  the 
banker's  son,  and  the  marshals  of  the  empire  are  sold 
"second  hand  !"  in  the  frippery  market. 

I  intended  to  write  you  in  English  ;  but  the  French 
creeps  in  in  spite  of  me ;  I  shall  be  as  hermaphrodite  as 
my  Lady  Morgan. 

This  is  one  of  the  prettiest  of  the  Boulevards,  and  you 
will  see  here  a  great  many  fine  women  en  promenade 
of  a  morning,  about  twelve.  When  a  French  lady  walks 
out,  she  always  takes  at  one  side  her  caniche  by  a  string, 
and  at  the  other,  sometimes,  a  beau  without  a  string. 


MORNING  WALKS.  Gl 

In  either  way  she  monopolizes  the  whole  street,  and  you 
are  continually  getting  between  her  and  the  pnppy  very 
much  to  your  inconvenience  ;  for  if  you  offend  the  dog, 
the  mistress  is  of  course  implacable,  and  yon  very  likely 
have  to  meet  her  gallant  in  the  Forest  of  Bondy,  next 
morning.  But  you  can  turn  this  evil  sometimes  to  ad- 
vantage. If  you  see,  for  instance,  a  pretty  woman 
alone,  with  her  curry  companion,  you  can  just  walk  on, 
"  commercing  with  the  skies"  till  the  lady  gets  one  side 
of  you  and  the  dog  the  other ;  this  will  give  you  the  op- 
portunity of  begging  her  pardon,  of  patting  and  stroking 
the  dog  a  little;  it  may  break  the  ice  toward^  an  ac- 
quaintance ;  or,  if  the  place  be  convenient  to  fall,  you  had 
better  let  her  trip  you  up,  and  then  she  will  be  very 
sorry. — If  you  think  it  is  a  little  thing  to  get  a  pretty 
woman's  pity  on  your  side,  you  are  very  much  mistaken. 
Let  me  introduce  you  to  this  shoe-black.  He  has,  as 
you  see,  a  little  box,  a  brush  or  two  in  it,  and  blacking, 
and  a  fixture  on  top  for  a  foot ;  this  is  his  fond  de  bou- 
tique, his  stock  in  trade.  He  brushes  off  the  mud  to  the 
soles  of  your  feet,  and  shows  you  your  own  features  in 
your  boots  for  three  sous.  This  one  has -just  dissolved 
an  ancient  firm,  and  his  advertisement,  which  he  calls  a 
"  prospectus,"  standing  here  so  prim  upon  a  board,  an- 
nounces the  event.  The  partnership  is  dissolved,  but 
the  whole  "  personnel,"  he  says,  of  the  establishment 
remains  with  the  present  proprietor  ;  and  M.  Baradaque, 
ex-partner,  has  also  the  honor  to  inform  us  that  he  has 
transported  the  "  appareil  de  son  etablissenienV  to  the 
"  Place  de  la  Bourse,  une  desphtsjolies  locations  de  la 
ville."  •  The  "  Decrotteur  en  chef,"  at  the  Palais  Royal, 
and  other  places  of  fashion,  has  his  assistants,  and  serves 
a  dozen  or  two  of  customers  at  a  time.  He  has  a  shop 
furnished  with  cloth-covered  benches  in  amphitheatre,  as 
vol.  i. — 6 


G2  THE  CIIIFF0NN1F.R. 

at  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  with  a  long  horizontal  iron 
support  for  the  foot,  and  pictures  are  hung  around  the 
walls.  "  On  (lit,  monsieur,  que  e'est  d'aprcs  Teniers — 
celui,  monsieur?,  c'esl  aprhs  Vandyke"  and  there  are 
newspapers  and  reviews  ;  so  that  to  polish  a  gentleman's 
boots  and  his  understanding  are  parts  of  the  same  pro- 
cess. 

There  is  a  variety  of  other  little  trades,  and  industries, 
which  derive  their  chief  means  of  life  from  the  wants 
and  luxuries  of  this  street ;  which  I  may  as  well  call  to 
your  notice  en  passant.  I  mean  trades  that  are  "lout 
Parisiennes,,,  that  is  to  say,  unknown  in  any  other 
country  than  Paris.  You  will  see  an  individual  moving 
about  at  all  hours  of  the  night,  silent  and  active,  and 
seeing  the  smallest  bit  of  paper  in  the  dark,  where  you 
can  see  nothing  ;  and  with  a  hook  in  the  end  of  a  stick, 
picking  it  up,  and  pitching  it  with  amazing  dexterity 
into  a  basket  tied  to  his  left  shoulder  ;  with  a  cat-like 
walk,  being  everywhere  and  nowhere  at  the  same  time, 
stirring  up  the  rubbish  of  every  nook  and  gutter  of  the 
street,  under  your  very  nose;  — this  is  the  chiffonnier. 
He  is  a  very  important  individual.  He  is  in  matter 
what  Pythagoras  was  in  mind  ;  and  his  transforma- 
tions are  scarcely  less  curious  than  those  of  the  Samian 
sage.  The  beau,  by  his  pains,  peruses  once  again  his 
dicky  or  cravat,  of  a  morning,  in  the  "  Magazin  des 
Modes,"  whilst  the  politician  has  his  breeches  repro- 
duced in  the  "  Journal  des  Deliats  ;"  and  many  a  fine  lady 
pours  out  her  soul  upon  a  billet-doux  that  once  was  the 
dishclout.  The  chiffonnier  stands  at  the  head  of  the  little 
trades,  and  is  looked  up  to  with  envy  by  the  others.  He 
has  two  coats,  and  wears  on  holidays  a  chain  and  quiz- 
zing-glass, and  washes  his  hands  with  pale  d'amand. 
He  rises,  too,  like  the  Paris  gentry,  when  the  chickens 


THE  GRATTEUR.  63 

roost,  and  when  the  lark  cjieers  the  morning,  goes  to  bed. 
All  the  city  is  divided  into  districts  and  let  out  to  these 
chifFonniers  by  the  hour ;  to  one  from  ten  to  eleven,  and 
from  eleven  to  twelve  to  another,  and  so  on  through  the 
night ;  so  that  several  get  a  living  and  consideration  from 
the  same  district.  This  individual  does  justice  to  the 
literary  compositions  of  the  day  ;  he  crams  into  his  cliif- 
fonnerie  indiscriminately  the  last  Vaudeville,  the  last 
sermon  of  the  Archbishop,  and  the  last  eloge  of  the  Aca- 
demy. 

Just  below  him  is  the  Gratteur.  This  artist  scratches 
the  live  long  day  between  the  stones  of  the  pavement 
for  old  nails  from  horses'  shoes  and  other  bits  of  iron — 
always  in  hopes  of  a  bit  of  silver,  and  even,  perhaps,  a  bit 
of  gold  ;  more  happy  in  his  hope  than  a  hundred  others 
in  the  possession.  He  has  a  store  in  the  Faubourgs, 
where  he  deposits  his  ferruginous  treasure ;  his  wife 
keeps  this  store,  and  is  a  "  Marchande  de  Fer."  He  main- 
tains a  family  like  another  man  ;  one  or  two  of  his  sons 
he  brings  up  to  scratch  for  a  living,  and  the  other  he 
sends  to  a  college  ;  and  he  has  a  lot  "  in  perpetuity,"  in 
Pere  la  Chaise.  His  rank  is,  however,  inferior  to  the 
Chiffonnier,  who  will  not  give  him  his  daughter  in  mar- 
riage, and  he  don't  ask  him  to  his  soirees. 

In  all  places  of  much  resort,  you  will  see  an  indivi- 
dual, broad  shouldered,  and  whiskered,  looking  very  affa- 
ble and  officious,  especially  upon  strangers,  mostly  about 
grocetvstores,  and  street  corners.  Let  me  introduce  you 
to  him,  also.  He  wants  to  carry  your  letters,  and  run 
errands  for  you  from  one  end  of  Paris  to  the  other.  He 
will  carry  also  your  wood  to  your  room,  a  billet-doux  to 
your  mistress,  and  your  boots  to  the  cobbler's,  and,  for 
a  modest  compensation,  perform  any  service  that  one 
person  may  require  of  another — also,  as  you  see,  a  very 
important  individual.     Indeed,  he  holds  amongst  men 


64  THE  COMMISSIONAIRE. 

nearly  the  same  place  that  Mercury  holds  amongst  the 
gods.  About  his  neck  he  wears  a  brass  medal,  polished 
bright  as  honor ;  at  once  his  badge  of  office,  and  pledge  of 
fidelity.  If  you  seem  to  doubt  his  honesty,  he  points  to 
his  medal,  and  holds  up  his  head;  that's  enough. — If 
only  the  Peers  could  point  to  their  decorations  with  the 
same  confidence  !  If  you  walk  out  in  the  bright  day, 
not  being  a  Parisian,  you  are  of  course  overtaken  by 
the  rain  :  for  a  Paris  sunshine  and  shower  are  as  close 
together  as  a  babe's  smiles  and  tears  :  and  then  you  just 
step  into  a  "  Cabinet  de  lecture,"  and  you  have  not  read 
the  half  worth  of  your  sou,  when  your  coat  has  em- 
braced you,  and  your  umbrella  is  between  you  and  the 
merciless  Heavens. — This  is  the  commissionnaire.  I 
should  have  noticed  among  the  little  industries  the 
"  Broker  of  theatrical  pleasures  ;"  he  sells  the  pass  of  A, 
who  retires  early,  to  B,  who  goes  in  late  ;  and  the  Clac- 
queur,  who,  for  two  or  three  francs  a  night,  applauds  or 
hisses  the  new  plays.  But  we  must  get  on  with  our 
journey. 

Here  on  the  Boulevard  Poissonnilre,  or  near  it,  re- 
sides Mr. of  New  Jersey  ;  he  has  been  sent  over 

(hapless  errand  !)  to  convert  these  French  people  to 
Christianity.  He  is  a  very  clever  man,  and  we  will  ask 
if  he  is  yet  alive  ;  the  journals  of  this  morning  say  three 
or  four  missionaries  have  been  eaten  up  by  the  Sumatras. 

This  is  the  famous  Arch  of  Triumph  of  the  Porte  St. 
Denis.  It  compliments  Louis  XIV.  on  his  passage  of 
the  Rhine  in  1672,  and  is  the  counterpart  of  the  Napo- 
leon Arch  at  the  Barriere  de  l'Etoile.  It  is  seventy-two 
feet  high,  and  has  at  each  side  an  obelisk  supported  by 
a  lion,  and  decorated  with  trophies.  That  fat  Dutch 
woman  at  the  left  base  stands  for  Holland,  and  that 
vigorous,  muscular-looking  man  on  the  right  is  deputy 


BOULEVARD  DU  TEMPLE.  65 

to  the  Rhine :  and  that  overhead  on  horseback  is  great 
"  baby  Louis." 

We  have  now  left  the  fashionable  world  at  our  heels 
— this  is  the  Boulevard  du  Temple.  This  Boulevard,  a 
few  years  ago,  was  a  delightful  and  romantic  walk  of  an 
evening.  But  noise  and  business  have  now  violated  all 
the  secret  retreats,  one  after  another,  of  Paris,  and  there 
is  no  spot  left  of  the  great  capital,  in  which  you  can  hear 
your  own  voice.  There  were  here,  before  the  Revolution, 
five  theatres,  and  the  lists  of  fame  are  crowded  with  the 
theatrical  celebrities  which  drew  the  homage  of  the  whole 
city  to  this  street.  This  is  the  only  spot  in  the  world  that 
has  furnished  clowns  for  posterity  ;  Baron  and  Lekain 
are  hardly  more  fresh  in  the  memory  of  man  than  Gali- 
raafre  and  Bobeche.  This  was  the  theatre  of  their 
triumphs.  It  was  here,  too,  that  the  world  came  to  see 
a  living  skeleton  of  eight  pounds,  and  his  wife  of  eight 
hundred;  that  men,  to  the  great  astonishment  of  our  an- 
cestors, swallowed  carving  knives,  and  boiling  oil,  that 
turkeys  danced  quadrilles,  and  fleas  drove  their  coaches 
and  six  ;  and  it  was  here  that  Mademoiselle  Rose  stood 
on  her  head  on  a  candlestick.  There  are  yet  six  theatres 
here,  but  the  street,  once  so  adorned  with  gardens  and 
equipages  and  fashionable  ladies,  and  an  infinity  of  other 
attractions,  is  now,  alas  !  built  up  with  gaunt  houses,  and 
differs  scarcely  from  the  other  Boulevard. 

The  simplicity  of  original  manners  is,  however,  won- 
derfully preserved  in  this  district.  The  more  fashionable 
parts  are  so  filled  with  strangers — with  parasite  plants, 
that  you  can  scarcely  distinguish  the  indigenous  popula- 
tion. This  is  the  true  classical  and  traditional  district ;  the 
only  place  you  can  find  unadulterated  Frenchmen.  The 
inhabitant  of  this  quarter  has  rather  more  than  a  French 
share  of  embonpoint,  and  aims  at  dignity,  and  his  whis- 

6* 


till  I  NADULTKHMKI)   FRENCHMEN. 

kers  leave  a  part  of  his  chin  uncovered  ;  his  clothes  are 
large  and  line  in  texture;  he  carries  an  umbrella,  and  on 
fete  days,  a  cane  to  give  him  an  important  air,  and  keep 
off  the  dogs.     If  it  rains,  he  takes  a  fiacre  ;  he  keeps  by 
him  his  certificate  of  marriage  and  "extrait  de  bateme," 
and  has  not  got  over  the  prejudice  of  beiiig'born  in  law- 
ful wedlock.     His  wife  is  pretty,  but  not  handsome  ;  her 
features  are  regular  and  face  plump ;  indeed  she  is  plump 
all  over.     He  loves  this  wife  by  instinct ;  she  keeps  his 
books,  and  he  asks  her  advice  in  all  his  business ;  she 
suckles  his  children  and  gives  him  tisane  when  he  is  sick. 
I  saw  this  individual  and  his  wife  together  a  few 
evenings  ago  at  the  Ambigu  Comique.     I  sometimes  go 
to  this  theatre  and  the  Gaite  and  the  Cirque  Olimpique. 
A  vicious  student  was  tempted  every  now  and  then  to 
pinch  Madame  behind.   She  bore  it  impatiently,  indeed, 
but  silently  for  some  time.     "  Qu'est-ce  que  iu  as  ? — t 
Qu'astu  done,  ma  fern  me .?"     At  last  she  communi- 
cated to  her  husband  the  fact.     He  immediately  grew  a 
foot  taller  upon  his  seat ;  and  then  he  looked  at  the  young 
man  from  head  to  foot  with  one  of  those  looks  which 
mean  so  much  more  than  words.     Not  wishing,  how- 
ever, to  disturb  the  play,  he  contained  himself,  only^rig- 
gling  on  his  seat,  and  eyeing  him  occasionally,  to  the 
end  of  the  act,  and  then  he  got  up.     "  Quoi,  monsieur," 
said  he,  "vous  avez  V impertinence  de  pincer  lesf esses  de 
Madame  .?"  and  then  thrusting  his  tongue  into  the  lower 
lip,  he  put  on  an  expression  such  as  you  will  never  meet 
outside  the  Boulevard  du  Temple.   You  would  go  a  mile 
any  time  barefooted  to  see  it.     "  I  would  have  you  to 
know,  sir,  that  I  am  a  rentier,  (a  freeholder,)  quejepaye 
rente  h  la  ville  de  Paris;  that  I  am  called  Grigou,  mon- 
sieur ;  and  that  I  live  in  the  Rue  d' Angouleme,  No.  22  :" 
and  he  sat  down.     The  little  wife  now  tried  to  appease 


MARKET  FOR  FRIPPERY.  67 

him,  which  made  him  the  more  pugnacious;  she  remind- 
ed him  he  was  a  father  of  a  family,  had  children,  and 
finally  that  he  had  a  wife  ;  and  then  she  sat  close  up  by 
him,  and  then  she  came  over  to  the  other  side,  just  front 
of  me,  for  security. — The  bourgeois  of  this  district  lives 
in  a  larger  house  than  he  could  get  for  the  same  rent  in 
any  other  part  of  Paris  ;  he  is  usually  independent  in  his 
circumstances,  and  has  a  certain  ti  plomb,  or  confidence 
in  himself,  and  a  liberty  in  all  his  movements,  which 
give  a  full  relief  to  his  natural  feelings,  and  traits  of  cha- 
racter. 

Some  distance  towards  the  right  you  will  find  the  great 
market  of  frippery — one  of  the  curiosities  of  this  district. 
Every  old  thing  upon  the  earth  is  sold  there  for  new. 
There  are  1S00  shops.  Nothing  ever  was  so  restored 
from  raggedness  to  apparent  green  youth  and  integrity 
as  an  old  coat  in  the  hands  of  these  Israelites,  unless  it  be 
the  conscience  of  those  who  sell.  A  garment  that  has 
served  at  least  two  generations,  and  been  worn  last  by 
a  beggar,  you  will  buy  in  this  market  for  new  in  spite 
of  your  teeth.  It  is  a  good  study  of  human  nature  to 
see  here  how  far  the  human  face  may  be  modified  by 
its  pursuits  and  meditations. 

This  building  in  the  Rue  du  Temple,  with  superb 
portico,  and  Ionic  columns,  and  two  colossal  statues  in 
front,  is  one  of  great  historical  importance;  and  ladies 
who  love  knights  would  not  pardon  me  for  passing  it 
unnoticed.  The  ancient  edifice  was  built  seven  hundred 
years  ago,  and  was  occupied  by  one  of  the  most  power- 
ful orders  of  Christianity — the  Knights  Templars.  Here 
it  was  that  Philip  le  Bel  tortured  and  burnt  alive  these 
soldier  monks;  seizing  their  treasures,  and  bestowing 
their  other  possessions  upon  his  new  favorites,  the 
Knights  of  Malta.     Who  has  not  heard  of  the  war-cry 


68  KNIGHTS  TEMPLARS. 

of  Beauceant,  which  chilled  the  blood  of  the  Saracens 
on  the  plains  of  Syria,  and  has  since  made  many  a 
woman  tremble  in  her  slippers  at  midnight.  This  was 
his  lodging.  Lord !  how  wide  you  open  yonr  eyes  ! 
Yes,  here  lodged  the  Knights  of  the  Red  Cross;  and 
Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  used  to  put  up  in  this  temple  in 
going  to  the  Holy  Land.  It  became  national  property 
in  the  Revolution,  and  was  given  at  the  Restoration 
(1814)  to  the  Princesse  de  Corxle,  who  established  the 
present  «  Convent  of  the  Temple."  The  ladies  who 
now  occupy  it  are  called  the  Dames  Benedictines,  and, 
like  the  other  nuns,  of  whom  there  are  at  present  more 
than  twenty  orders  in  France,  they  devote  themselves 
to  education  and  other  benevolent  employments.  It 
was  in  this  old  building  that  Louis  XVI.  and  his  queen 
were  imprisoned  in  1792.  The  king  was  taken  out 
from  here  the  20th  of  January,  1793,  to  the  scaffold, 
the  queen  about  eleven  months  after,  and  Madame 
Elizabeth,  his  sister,  in  the  following  year,  leaving  his 
daughter  here  alone  at  thirteen  years  of  age.  Sir  Syd- 
ney Smith  was  confined  in  the  same  room  in  179S. 
Bonaparte,  in  1811,  demolished  the  old  edifice  to  the 
last  stone — from  what  motive?  and  in  1812,  it  was 
fenced  round,  and  the  grass  grew  upon  the  guilty  place. 
The  religious  ladies  who  now  reside  here  are  purifying 
it  by  prayers  and  other  acts  of  devotion.  Apropos  of 
Sydney  Smith ;  I  met  him  at  an  evening  party  lately. 
He  looks  like  the  history  of  the  last  half  century.  He 
is  a  venerable  old  man,  and  very  sociable  with  the 
young  girls,  who  were  climbing  his  knees,  and  hanging 
about  his  neck,  and  getting  his  name  albnmhxed  in 
their  little  books  to  carry  to  America. 

I  will  now  show  you  a  house  in  this  street,  (Rue  des 
Marais  du  Temple,  No.   31,)  a  house  that,  once  seen, 


MONSIEUR  DE  PARIS.  69 

will  never  depart  from  your  memory.  Its  closed  door 
and  windows,  as  if  no  one  lived  there;  its  iron  railing 
without  entrance,  and  the  interstices  condemned  with 
wood,  in  front ;  and  the  slit  in  the  centre  of  the  door  to 
receive  the  correspondence  of  its  horrible  master,  who 
sits  within  as  a  spider  in  its  web,  you  will,  see  all  the 
rest  of  your  life.  It  is  the  house  of  Monsieur  de  Paris. 
Oh  dear !  and  who  is  Monsieur  de  Paris  ?  He  is  a  civil 
magistrate,  and  belongs  to  the  executive  department. 
No  one  living  is,  perhaps,  so  great  a  terror  to  evil  doers 
as  this  Monsieur  de  Paris.  "Monsieur,"  you  must 
recollect,  has  its  particular,  and  its  general  meanings. 
Monsieur,  means  anybody;  un  monsieur,  is  a  gentle- 
man of  some  breeding  and  education ;  La  maison  de 
Monsieur,  is  the  family  of  the  king's  eldest  son  ;  Mon- 
sieur de  Meaux,  means  the  Archbishop,  and  Monsieur 
de  Pai^is,  means  the  Hangman  !  He  is  also  called  the 
"  Executeur  de  la  haute  justice,"  or  "  Executeur  des 
hautes  ceuvres,"  and  vulgarly,  the  Boureau.  This 
is  his  Hotel.  The  name  of  the  present  incumbent  is 
Mr.  Henry  Sanson.  His  family  consists  of  a  son,  a 
person  of  mild  and  gentle  manners,  who  is  now  serving 
his  apprenticeship  to  the  business  under  his  eminent 
parent;  and  two  daughters.  The  elder,  about  fifteen,  is 
remarkable  for  beauty  and  accomplishment.  The  father 
is  rich;  his  salary  being  above  that  of  the  President  of 
the  Royal  Court,  and  he  has  spared  no  expense  in  the 
education  of  the  girls.  They  will  be  sumptuously 
endowed. 

The  two  ends  of  society  are  affected  sometimes  in 
nearly  the  same  way.  A  princess,  being  obliged  to  se- 
lect her  husband  from  her  own  rank  and  religion,  runs 
the  hazard  of  a  perpetual  virginity ;  and  Mademoiselle 
de  Paris  experiences  exactly  the  same  inconvenience; 


70  THE  MARQUIS  DE  LALY. 

she  can  marry  but  a  hangman.  There  is  no  one  of  all 
Europe,  who  has  performed  the  same  eminent  functions 
as  Mr.  Henry  Sanson,  or  to  whom,  without  loss  of  dig- 
nity, he  can  offer  the  hand  of  his  fair  daughter.  Ye 
lords  and  gentlemen,  if  you  think  you  have  all  the  pride 
to  yourselves,  you  are  mistaken  ;  the  hangman  has  his 
share  like  another  man. 

Mr.  Sanson  has  appropriated  one  or  two  rooms  of  this 
building  to  a  Museum  of  ancient  instruments,  used  in 
judicial  torture— Luke's  iron  bed,  Ravaillac's  boots, and 
such  like  relics ;  and  is  quite  a  dilettante  in  this  department 
of  science.  We  expect  a  course  of  gratuitous  lectures, 
as  at  the  "  Musee  des  Artset  Metiers,"  when  the  season 
begins.  Amongst  other  objects,  you  will  see  the  sword 
with  which  was  beheaded  the  Marquis  de  Laly.  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  an  anecdote  I  have  read  of  this  too 
famous  execution,  which  is  curious.  About  the  year 
1750,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  three  young  men  of  the 
high  class  of  nobility,  after  breaking  windows,  and  the 
heads  of  street  passengers,  and  beating  the  guard,  (which 
was  the  privilege  of  the  higher  classes  in  those  times,) 
strolling  down  the  Faubourg  St.  Martin,  laughing  and. 
talking,  and  well  fuddled  with  champagne^  arrived  at 
the  door  of  this  house.  They  heard  the  sound  of 
instruments,  and  music  so  lively  seemed  to  indicate  a 
hearty  bourgeois  dance.  How  fortunate !  they  could 
now  pass  the  night  pleasantly.  One  of  them  knocked, 
and  a  polite  well-dressed  person  opened.  A  young  lord 
explained  the  motive  of  their  visit,  and  was  refused. 
"  You  are  wrong,"  said  the  nobleman  ;  "  we  are  of  the 
court,  and  do  you  honor  in  sharing  your  amusements." 
"  I  am  obliged,  nevertheless,  to  refuse,"  replied  the 
stranger;  "neither  of  you  know  the  person  you  are  ad- 
dressing, or  you  would  be  as  anxious  to  withdraw,  as 


THE  CAFE  TURC.  71 

now  to  be  admitted."  "Excellent,  upon  honor!  and 
who  the  devil  are  you?" — "The  executioner  of  Paris." 
"  Ha,  ha,  ha,  what  you  ?  you  the  gentleman  who  breaks 
limbs,  cuts  off  heads,  and  tortures  poor  devils  so  agree- 
ably ?"  "  Such,  indeed,  are  the  duties  of  my  office  ;  I 
leave,  however,  the  details  you  speak  of  to  my  deputies, 
and  it  is  only  when  a  lord  like  either  of  you  is  subject  to 
the  penalties  of  the  law,  that  I  do  execution  on  him  with 
my  own  hands."  The  individual  who  held  this  dialogue 
with  the  executioner  was  the  Marquis  de  Laly.  Twen- 
ty years  after  he  died  by  the  hands  of  this  man,  upon 
whose  office  he  was  now  exercising  his  raillery. 

One  of  the  ornaments  of  this  Boulevard  is  the  Cafe 
Tare,  fitted  up  with  a  furniture  of  two  hundred  thousand 
francs.  It  would  do  honor  to  the  Italien.  What  a 
display  of  belles  and  beaux,  about  seven  of  an  evening, 
through  its  spacious  rooms,  and  gardens,  and  galleries  ! 
—  one  lends  his  ear  to  the  concert,  another,  retired  in  a 
grotto  at  the  side  of  his  bonnie  amie,  drinks  large 
draughts  of  love,  and  another  drinks  eau  sveree. 

And  here  is  the  largest  elephant  upon  the  earth, 
which  bears  the  same  relation  to  all  other  elephants 
that  the  Trajan  horse  did  to  all  other  horses.  This  mon- 
ster was  to  be  cast  in  bronze,  and  surmounted  by  a 
tower,  forming  a  figure  of  about  eighty  feet  in  height. 
That  which  you  see  here  is  only  the  model  in  plaster  of 
Paris.  The  stairway  leads  up  through  one  of  the  legs, 
six  and  a  quarter  feet  in  the  ankle.  There  were  to  be 
twenty-four  bas-reliefs  in  marble,  representing  the  Arts 
and  Sciences;  and  the  bronze  was  to  be  obtained  from 
the  fusion  of  the  cannon,  captured  by  the  imperial  army 
in  Spain.  Louis  Philippe,  who  is  charged  with  the 
public  works  began  by  Bonaparte,  will  be  puzzled  to 
finish  this  elephant. 


72  THE  FOUNTAINS. 

Paris  contains  one  hundred  and  eighty-nine  great 
fountains,  of  which  about  twenty  are  of  beautiful 
architecture,  adorned  with  sculpture  and  statuary,  and 
enlivened  by  jets  d'eaux,  and  forma  principal  ornament 
of  the  city.  This  elephant  was  intended  to  add  one  to 
the  number.  That  so  imposing  and  picturesque,  which 
we  just  now  passed  on  the  Boulevard  du  Temple,  is 
called  the  Chateau.  The  building  with  the  jet  on  the 
top  forms  a  cone.  The  water  falls  from  its  summit  into 
vases,  which  overflow  in  cascades  that  tumble  down 
from  story  to  story  into  a  large  basin  at  the  base,  where 
eight  lions  of  bronze  spout  torrents  in  jets  d'eaux  from 
their  mouths.  Its  cost  was  one  hundred  thousand  francs. 
It  would  be  too  long  to  particularize  the  others.  On 
one  you  will  see  Leda  caressing  her  swan,  Cupid 
lurking  on  the  watch ;  on  another  Tantalus  gaping 
in  vain  for  the  liquid,  which  passes  by  his  lips  into 
the  pail  of  the  waterman ;  on  another,  Hygeia  giving 
drink  to  a  fatigued  soldier;  and  on  another,  Charity 
suckling  one  of  her  children,  wrapping  another  from  the 
cold  in  the  folds  of  her  frock,  and  quenching  the  parched 
lips  of  a  third  with  the  pure  stream.  I  have  just  bought 
you  a  clock  representing  the  "  Fountain  of  the  Inno- 
cents," with  all  its  waters  in  motion.  It  was  the 
Duchess  of  Bern's,  and  is  of  delicate  workmanship. 
Please  have  the  proper  respect  to  its  dignity,  and  indulg- 
ence for  its  frailty.     I  will  send  it  by  the  next  packet. 

The  turning  of  wickets,  the  jingling  of  keys,  and 
grating  of  bolts  were  the  sounds  heard  here  forty-six 
years  ago.  What  recollections  rise  out  of  the  ground 
to  meet  you  at  every  step  as  you  tread  upon  this  un- 
hallowed spot.  One  hears  almost  the  chains  clank,  and 
the  prisoner  groan  in  his  cell !  It  was  here,  where  the 
charcoal  now  floats  so  peacefully  on  the  lake,  and  where 


THE  BASTILLE.  73 

the  boatman  sings  his  absent  mistress  so  joyously,  that 
stood,  in  horrid  majesty  — 

"  With  many  a  foul  and  midnight  murder  fed,"    • 

the  "  high  altar  and  castle  of  Despotism,"  the  Bastille! 
Where  are  now  the  damp  and  secret  cells,  the  sombre 
corridors,  and  the  grim  countenances  of  the  jailers,  and 
where  the  mob  of  '89,  and  the  mad  passions  that  leveled 
its  .towers  and  battlements?  Quiet  as  the  Seine  that 
sleeps  upon  its  dungeons!  The  present  substitutes  for 
the  Bastille,  are',  the  Depot  at  the  Prefecture  of  Police; 
St.  Pelagie  for  state  crimes,  and  La  Force  for  civil ;  the 
Conciergerie  for  those  awaiting  trial,  and  the  Salpetriere 
for  those  awaiting  the  execution  of  their  sentence. 

Bonaparte  built  here  an  immense  granary,  containing 
always  corn  enough  for  the  consumption  of  the  capital 
for  two  months.  This,  with  the  Halle  aux  bleds  in  the 
centre  of  the  city,  supplies  the  whole  population.  Paris 
has  six  hundred  bakers,  who  are  obliged  to  keep  always 
in  this  granary,  one  hundred  thousand  sacks  of  flour, 
worth  thirty  shillings  sterling  per  sack  ;  and  therefore  it 
is  called  the  Grenier  de  Reserve.  Here  lived  the  witty 
and  profligate  Beaumarchais  ;  his  castle  is  rased  ;  all  but 
Figaro  are  dead.  You  have  in  sight  the  Hospital  of  the 
Quinze-vingts,  which  contains  three  hundred  blind,  who 
have  twenty-four  sous  a  day  each  for  a  living,  with  the 
produce  of  their  industry,  which  is  wonderfully  ingenious. 
Now  we  have  passed  the  Garden  of  Plants,  and  the 
Bridge  of  Austerlitz.  For  this  latter  favor  we  owe 
something  to  the  Russians,  who  saved  this  bridge  from 
its  bad  name,  and  Blucher's  gunpowder. 

That  upon  the  hill  is  the  Salpetriere,  the  Insane  Hos- 
pital for  women.  What  a  huge  pile  !  One  to  put  the 
sane  ones  in  would  not  be  half  the  size.  This  front  on 
vol.  i. — 7 


74  THE  HOSPITAL  FOR  WIDOWERS. 

the  Boulevard,  is  six  hundred  feet.  The  building  in  the 
rear  is  of  similar  dimensions,  and  the  Rotonde  between, 
with  the  octagon  dome,  is  the  chapel.  It  contains  now 
four  thousand  live  hundred  poor  aged  above  seventy ; 
one  thousand  five  hundred  crazy;  all  women.  I  went  in 
on  Sunday.  What  immense  conversation  !  There  is  a 
similar  institution  for  the  other  sex  called  Bicelre.  Paris 
has  twenty  hospitals,  affording  thirty  thousand  beds,  and 
classed  by  the  several  diseases  and  infirmities.  It  has 
no  poor-houses,  but  each  of  its  twelve  arondissements,  or 
municipal  divisions,  has  a  "  Bureau  de  Bienfesance," 
which  distributes  provisions  to  the  indigent,  and  provides 
labor  for  the  idle,  and  there  is  a  plenty  of  benevolent 
societies  with  specific  objects.  Nor  do  they  want  cus- 
tomers, for  the  number  of  paupers  is  near  fifty  thousand. 
I  forgot  to  tell  you  there  is  a  hospital  here  (the  Hospice 
des  Menages),  for  widowers.  What  an  object  of  charity 
is  a  man  without  a  wife  !  They  have  made,  however, 
the  terms  hard  ;  one  has  to  stay  married  twenty  years  to 
be  admitted.  The  institution  is  under  the  care  of  the 
Sisters  of  Charity.  This  of  Val  de  Grace  is  for  the  mili- 
tary, and  that  of  the  Rue  d'Enfer  for  the  Foundlings; 
not  an  unnatural  association,  but  emblematic  of  the  two 
chief  concerns  of  the  capital;  killing  off  the  people  by 
war,  and  making  up  the  loss  by  adultery.  And  this  is 
the  Rue  St.  Jaccpaes,  one  of  the  classical  streets  of  the 
city.  The  great  rogues  pay  their  last  visit  to  this  end  of 
it,  and  the  great  men  to  the  other  :  if  you  kill  ten  thou- 
sand of  your  fellow-creatures,  you  go  to  the  Pantheon 
at  the  west  end  ;  if  one  only,  you  come  here  to  the  Place 
St.  Jacques,  now  the  seat  of  the  Guillotine,  and  the 
public  executions.— At  length  we  are  on  the  Boulevard 
du  Mont  Parnasse,  at  the  end  of  our  journey.  Yet 
could  you  not  get  a  drop  of  Helicon  here,  though  pe- 


SMUGGLERS.  75 

rishing  with  thirst.  All  one  can  offer  you  is  a  little  sour 
Burgundy,  which  is  cheaper  than  inside  the  wall.  This 
is  the  reason  you  see  all  this  rabble,  five  hundred  at  a 
view,  carousing  and  dancing  in  their  sabots,  drinking 
and  caressing  tour-a-tour,  the  necks  of  their  bottles,  and 
their  belles;  it  is  the  reason  why, thousands  are  crowd- 
ing here  to  drink,  who  are  not  dry,  and  Paris  is  losing 
daily  her  sober  reputation,  and  learning  to  get  drunk 
like  her  neighbors. 

The  bad  system  of  the  ports  in  France  is  transferred 
to  all  the  petty  towns.  A  couple  of  sergeants,  musk- 
eted  and  whiskered,  walk  with  grim  dignity  at  each 
side  of  the  gates.  They  stop  and  examine  all  vehicles, 
public  and  private,  and  all  such  persons  as  carry  in  pro- 
visions to  the  market ;  forcing  them  to  pay  an  octroi  or 
duty  to  the  city  of  Paris  ;  which  prevent  those  rogues,  the 
poor  people,  from  getting  a  dinner  untaxed.  They  even 
stop  sometimes  the  foot  passengers ;  especially  those  no- 
torious smugglers,  the  women.  If  any  one  chance  to  be 
half  gone,  she  is  not  allowed  to  go  any  farther,  unless 
with  the  certificate  of  the  parish  priest,  or  some  equally 
good  authority.  Quantities  of  lace  and  silks  have  passed 
in  under  such  pretexts.  The  best  commentary  I  know 
upon  the  wisdom  of  this  policy,  is  the  Boulevard  du 
Mont  Parnasse. 

When  Paris  was  surrounded  by  this  wall,  the  people 
murmured,  and  made  a  riot,  and  hung  up  several  of  the 
ringleaders,  on  those  principles  of  law  recently  laid  down 
by  our  chief  justice  Lynch.  They  entered  suits  too 
against  the  city — to  put  her  in  the  Bastille  ;  but  a  com- 
promise ended  the  strife,  and  the  wall  was  built.  Here 
is  a  line  from  an  old  book  relating  to  these  times  : 

"Les  murs  murant  Paris  rendent  Paris  murmnrant." 


76  THE  PALAIS  ROYAL. 

I  could  not  think  of  descending  from  Parnassus  without 
a  line  of  poetry. 


LETTER    IV. 

The  Palais  Royal — French  courtesy — Rue  Vivienne — Pleasures  of 
walking  in  the  streets — Cafes  in  the  Palais  Royal — Mille  Colonnes 
— Very's — French  dinners — Past  history  of  the  Palais  Royal — 
Galerie  d'Orleans  —  Gambling — The  unhappy  Colton — Hells  of  the 
Palais  Royal — Prince  Puckler  Muskau — Lord  Brougham — The 
king  and  queen. 

Paris,  July,  1835. 

You  wish  to  see  the  Palais  Royal?  Then  you  must 
step  from  the  Boulevard  Italien  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to 
the  southwest.  If  you  hate  Philadelphia  sameness  and 
symmetry,  you  will  be  gratified  here  to  your  heart's  con- 
tent. In  Paris  there  are  ten  hundred  and  eighty  streets, 
besides  lanes  and  alleys,  all  recommending  themselves 
by  the  most  charming  irregularities.  That  which  you 
will  now  pass  through — the  "  Rue  Vivienne,"  is  among 
the  most  bustling;  it  is  a  leading  avenue,  is  alive  with 
business,  and  has  pretensions  far  above  its  capacity.  I 
must  tell  you  a  word  about  the  etiquette  of  these  streets 
before  you  set  out. 

If  a  lady  meets  a  gentleman  upon  the  little  side-walk, 
which  French  courtesy  calls  a  "  trottoir"  it  is  the  lady 
always  who  trols  into  the  mud.  The  French  women 
seem  used  to  tl>is  submission  and  yield  to  it  instinctively; 
and  indeed  all  who  feel  their  weakness,  as  children  and 


FRENCH  COURTESY.  77 

old  men,  being  subject  to  the  same  necessity,  show  the 
same  resignation.  Also,  if  a  number  of  gentlemen  are 
coteried,  even  across  the  broad  walk  of  the  Boulevards, 
the  lady  walks  round  not  to  incommode  them ;  and  it  is 
not  expected  of  a  French  gentleman  in  a  public  place  or 
vehicle,  that  he  should  give  his  seat  to  anyone,  of  what- 
ever age,  sex  or  condition,  or  that  he  should  deviate 
from  his  straight  line  on  the  street  for  anything  less 
than  an  omnibus.  The  French  have  been  a  polite  peo- 
ple, and  they  continue  to  trade  on  the  credit  of  their  an- 
cestors. What  is  curious  to  observe,  is  the  complaisance 
with  which  human  nature  follows  a  general  example. 
A  Russian  wife,  when  the  husband  neglects  to  beat  her 
for  a  month  or  two,  is  alarmed  at  his  indifference,  and  I 
have  remarked  that  the  French  women  are  the  warmest 
defenders  of  this  French  incivility. 

Recollect  that  as  soon  as  you  will  put  your  little  foot 
upon  this  Rue  Vivienne,  fifty  wagons,  a  wedding 
coach,  and  three  funerals,  with  I  don't  know  how  many 
mallepostes,  cabs,  coucous,  and  bell-eared  diligences — 
all  but  the  fiacres,  with  their  gaunt  and  fleshless  horses, 
which  plead  inability — will  set  themselves  to  run  over 
yon,  without  the  smallest  respect  for  your  Greek  nose, 
your  inky  brows,  and  black  eyes.  The  danger  is 
imminent,  and  it  won't  do  to  have  your  two  feet  in  one 
sock.  I  have  written  home  to  your  mother  to  have 
prayers  performed  in  the  churches  for  women's  husbands 
sojourning  in  Paris. — And  by  escaping  from  one  danger, 
you  are  sure  to  run  full  butt  against  another;  Scylla  and 
Charybdis,  too,  are  so  close  together  that  the  "  prudent 
middle"  is  precisely  the  course  that  no  prudent  lady 
will  think  of  pursuing.  To  make  it  worse,  the  natives 
will  have  not  the  least  sympathy  in  your  dangers;  they 

have  been  used  to  get  run  over  themselves,  from  time 

17* 


78  DANGERS  OF  THE  STREETS. 

immemorial,  and  when  we  staring  Yankees  come  over  to 
see  the  "Tooleries  and  the  Penny  Royal,"  they  are  not 
aware  that  any  allowance  is  to  he  made  for  our  igno- 
rance. Besides,  the  driver  knows  a  stranger  as  far  as 
he  can  see  him,  and  takes  aim  accordingly;  he  gets 
twenty-five  francs  for  his  body  at  the  Morgue.  It  is 
known  that  secret  companies  for  "  running  over  people," 
exist  all  over  Paris,  and  that  the  drivers  are  the  princi- 
pal jobbers.  The  truth  is  that  it  is  reckoned  amongst 
the  natural  deaths  of  the  place,  and  two  hundred  and 
fifty  are  marked  upon  the  bills  of  the  last  year.  Under  the 
old  regime,  When  the  nobility  put  out  a  greater  train  of 
vehicles,  and  had  a  kind  of  monopoly  of  running  over  the 
common  people,  I  have  heard  it  was  still  worse.  Then 
if  any  one  walked  about  the  streets  unmashed  for  twen- 
ty years,  he  was  entitled  to  the  cross  of  St.  Louis.  I 
have  escaped  till  now,  but  I  set  it  down  entirely  to  the 
efficacy  of  your  innocent  prayers,  which  have  reversed  the 
fates  in  my  favor. 

Your  best  way  is  to  watch  and  imitate  the  address 
of  the  native  women.  Here  they  are  now,  in  front  of 
my  window,  sprinkled  over  the  whole  street,  in  their 
white  stockings  and  prunellas,  and  in  the  very  filthiest 
of  the  French  weather,  without,  a  spot  to  their  garters. 
The  little  things  just  pull  up  all  the  petticoats  in  the 
world  more  than  half  leg,  and  then  tip-toe,  they  step 
from  the  convex  surface  of  one  paving  stone  to  another, 
with  a  dexterity  and  grace  that  go  to  one's  heart. 

A  lady  must  expect,  also,  other  embarrassments  here, 
to  which  the  delicate  pusillanimity  of  the  sex  is  but 
slightly  exposed  yet  in  our  country — besides  the  cat  and 
nine  kittens  that  she  must  jump  over,  and  the  defunct 
lap-dogs  that  lie  putrid  in  the  gutters.  The  truth  is,  that 
these  streets  are  very  often  (I  say  it  with  great  respect 


PLEASURES  OF  WALKING.  79 

for  Madame  de  Rambouillet)  so  in  dishabille,  they  are 
not  fit  to  be  seen.  A  Parisian  lady,  therefore,  (and  she 
is  to  be  imitated  also  in  this,)  when  she  ventures  out  a- 
foot,  is  sharp-sighted  as  a  lynx,  and  blind  as  an  owl ;  she 
has  eyes  to  see  and  not  to  see,  like  those  bad  Christians 
in  the  Testament,  and  she  runs  the  gauntlet  through*  the 
midst  of  all  these  slippery  and  perilous  obstructions,  in 
as  careless  a  good  humor  as  you  upon  the  smooth  trot- 
toirs  of  your  Chestnut  and  Broadways.  It  is  true  the 
ladies  of  the  haut  ton  do  not  much  exercise  their  ambu- 
latory functions — their  "  vertu  camirtantei} — upon  these 
unsavory  promenades. 

A  French  gentleman,  who  has  resided  a  week  and  a 
half  at  New  York,  (just  long  enough  to  know  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  a  country,)  told  me  this  very  morn- 
ing that  you  American  ladies  stare  upon  the  streets  at 
the  gentlemen — he  ventured  to  say,  "  even  to  im- 
modesty;" and  I  have  heard  other  foreigners  make 
similar  remarks,  I  presume  without  a  proper  attention 
to  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  different  countries. — 
On  a  Philadelphia  street  a  lady  can  give  herself  up  to 
her  thoughts;  her  soul  has  the  free  use  of  its  wings;  she 
can  get  into  a  romance,  or  a  reverie ;  she  can  study  her 
lesson,  or  read  a  love-letter,  and  she  can  stare  at  a 
French  gentleman  without  the  least  apprehension  of 
danger.  Our  streets  are  clean  and  decent,  and  are  ex- 
cellent places  of  parade  ;  and  gentlemen  and  ladies  may 
go  out  expressly  of  fine  evenings  to  stare  at  one  another. 
Indeed,  Chestnut  Street  is  so  trim  and  neat  that  some- 
times one  is  almost  obliged,  like  Diogenes,  to  spit  in 
somebody's  face  not  to  soil  its  prettiness.  Not  so  in 
Paris.  You  are  here  quite  at  your  ease  in  all  such 
matters.  A  French  lady,  therefore,  and  very  properly, 
sees  no  one  on  the  street — not  even  her  husband.     To 


80  THE  PALAIS  ROVAL. 

get  her  to  look  at  you,  you  are  obliged  to  take  hold  of 
her,  shake  her,  and  turn  her  about  three  or  four  times; 
but  when  once  upon  the  Boulevard  Italien  of  an  even- 
ing, or  upon  the  broad  walk  of  the  elegant  Tuileries, 
when  she  has  no  longer  need  of  her  faculties  of  eyes  and 
ears,  and  nose,  too,  to  anticipate  and  obviate  danger — 
ah,  mafoi  !  her  diamond  eyes  are  no  more  chary  of  their 
amorous  glances,  than  the  ha^)>and  bugle  eyes  of 
Chestnut  or  Broadway  of  theirs.  I  tried  to  persuade 
this  French  gentleman,  who  is  a  baron,  has  a  bel  air 
and  large  mustaches,  that  this  happened  only  to  him ;  I 
told  him  (and  it  is  true,  too)  of  others  who  could  not  get 
the  dear  little  girls  of  New  York  to  look  at  them  suffi- 
ciently.    But  I  must  show  you  the  Palais  Royal. 

It  is  a  third  less  than  your  Washington  Square.  Its 
trees  are  in  two  regular  rows  along  each  margin.  In 
the  centre  is  an  enclosure,  containing  shrubbery  and 
flowers;  and  also  an  Apollo  and  a  Diana,  in  bronze,  and 
a  jet  d'eau  that  separates  in  the  air,  and  falls  in  a  "fleur 
de  lys" — the  only  emblem  of  royalty  that  deceived  the 
Revolution  and  the  Jacobins;  and  a  lake,  where  the 
little  fishes  "  wave  their  wings  of  gold."  There  is  no 
access  to  vehicles,  or  street  noise  to  disturb  the  quiet  of 
this  fairy  retreat.  It  is  in  the  centre,  too,  of  the  city,  in 
the  vicinity  of  all  the  other  chief  places  of  diversion  ; 
and  here  all  the  world  meets  after  dinner  to  take  coffee, 
to  smoke,  and  concert  measures  for  the  rest  of  the  even- 
ing. You  will  see  them  creeping  in  from  the  neigh- 
boring streets  as  you  have  seen  the  ants  into  a  sugar- 
house. 

If  you  wish  to  know  where  is  the  centre  of  the  earth, 
it  is  the  Palais  Royal.  Ask  a  stranger,  when  he  ar- 
rives, "  whither  will  you  go  first?"  he  will  answer,  "to 
the  Palais  Royal ;"  or  ask  a  Frenchman,  on  the  top  of 


THE  PALAIS  ROYAL.  81 

Caucasus,  "  where  shall  I  meet  you  again?"  he  will 
give  you  rendezvous  at  the  Palais  Royal ;  and  no  spot, 
they  say,  on  the  earth,  has  witnessed,  so  many  tender 
recognitions.  Just  do  you  ask  Mademoiselle  Celeste,  at 
New  York,  «  where  did  you  get  that  superb  robe  de 
chambre  ?"  and,  I  will  lay  you  six  to  one,  she  will  say, 
"  at  the  Palais  Royal." 

Let  us  sit  down  beneath  these  pretty  elms.  Those 
upper  rooms,  which  you  see  so  adorned  with  Ionic 
columns,  with  galleries,  and.  vases,  and  little  Virtues, 
and  other  ornaments  in  sculpture— those  are  not  his 
majesty's  apartments:  not  the  salles  des  marichaux, 
nor  the  salle  du  trone,  nor  the  chambre  a  coucher  de  la 
reine  ;  they  are  the  cafes  and  restaurants  of  the  Palais 
Royal.  And  those  multitudes  you  see  circulating  about 
the  galleries,  and  looking  down  from  the  windows — 
those  are  not  the  royal  family,  nor  the  garde  du  corps, 
nor  the  "hundred  Swiss,"  nor  the  chambellans,  the 
ecuyers,  the  aumoniers,  the  maitres  de  ciremonies,  the 
introducteurs  des  ambassadeurs,  nor  the  historiogra- 
phers, nor  even  the  chavf-cire,  or  the  capitaines  des 
levrettes — they  are  the  cooks,  and  the  garcons,  in  their 
white  aprons,  of  the  cafes  and  restaurants;  the  only 
order  that  has  suffered  no  loss  of  dignity  or  corruption 
of  blood  by  the  Revolution ;  the  veritable  noblesse  of 
these  times,  the  "  cordons  bleus"  of  the  order  of  the 
gridiron. 

Louis  Philippe,  our  citizen  king,  and  proprietor  of 
this  garden,  gets  thirty-two  thousand  francs,  annually, 
of  sitting,  out  of  these  chairs.  Sit  you  down.  It  being 
after  dinner,  I  will  treat  you  to  a  H 'gal ;  which  is  a 
cup  of  pure  coffee,  with  a  small  glass  of  liqueur,  eau  de 
vie,  or  rum,  or  qtweeh.  You  can  take  them  separate  or 
together;  in  the  latter  case,  it  is  called  "gloria;"  or  you 


S2  THE  CAFES  AND  RESTAURANTS. 

may  put  your  cognlac  into  a  cup,  with  a  largo,  lump  of 
sugar  iu  the  middle,  and  set  it  on  fire,  to  destroy  the 
cli'ects  of  the  alcohol  >  upon  your  nerves.  See  how  the 
area  of  the  garden  is  already  covered  with  its  smoking, 
drinking,  and  promenading  community;  and  how  the 
smoke,  as  if  loth  to  quit  us,  still  lingers,  until  the  whole 
atmosphere  is  narcotic  with  its  incense.  At  a  later 
hour,  we  shall  find  in  the  rotunda,  at  the  north  end,  and 
upon  tables  under  these  trees,  ices  in  pyramids,  and 
orgeat  and  eau  sucree,  and  all  the  other  luxurious 
refreshments.  Those  two  oriental  pavilions,  with  the 
gilded  roofs,  in  front  of  the  rotonde,  will  distribute  news- 
papers to  the  studious,  and  the  whole  garden  will  buzz 
with  conversation  and  merriment,  until  the  long  twilight 
has  faded  into  night. 

Of  the  inside  of  the  cafes  and  restaurants  I  must  give 
you  a  few  particulars.  In  each,  there  is  a  woman  of 
choice  beauty,  mounted  on  a  kind  of  throne.  She  is 
present  always,  and  may  be  considered  as  one  of  the 
fixtures  of  the  shop.  When  you  enter  any  of  these 
cafes,  you  will  see,  standing  here  and  there  through  the 
rooms,  an  individual  in  a  white  apron ;  he  has  mus- 
taches, he  holds  a  coffee-pot  in  his  left  hand,  and 
leaning  gracefully  over  the  right,  reads  his  favorite 
journal — this  is  the  waiter  !  When  you  have  cried  three 
times  "  Garcon !"  the  lady  at  the  bureau  will  vibrate 
a  little  bell,  and  bring  you  instantly  this  waiter  from  his 
studies.  If  you  are  a  very  decent-looking  man,  she  will 
let  you  cry  only  twice  ;  and  if  you  have  an  embroidered 
waistcoat,  and  look  like  a  lord,  and  have  whiskers,  she 
will  not  let  you  cry  at  all.  The  chair  occupied  by  this 
she  secretary,  at  the  Milk  Colonnes,  cost  ten  thousand 
francs;  and  she  who  sat,  some  years  ago,  upon  that  of 
the  "cafe  des  Aveugles,"  the   "belle   Limonadiere," 


THE  KITCHEN  CABINET.  83 

charmed  all   who  had  eyes,  and  amongst  the   rest,  a 
brother  of  the  greatest  emperor  of  the  world. 

There  are  above  a  thousand  of  these  cafes  in  Paris, 
and  several  of  the  most  sumptuous,  overlook  the  gar- 
dens of  the  Palais  Royal.  Ceres  has  unlocked  her 
richest  treasures  here,  and  has  poured  them  out  with 
a  prodigality  that  is  unknown  elsewhere.  Fish  of  fresh, 
and  of  salt  water;  rare  wines  of  home  and  foreign  pro- 
duction ;  and  as  for  the  confectionaries,  sucreries,  fruit* 
eries,  charcuiteries,  the  senses  are  bewildered  by  the 
infinite  variety.  And  the  artists  here  have  a  higher 
niche  in  the  temple  of  Fame,  than  even  those  of  the 
Boulevard  Italien.  Monsieur  Very  ^supplied  the  allied 
monarchs,  at  three  thousand  francs  per  day.  The  "  Pur- 
veyor of  Fish,"  to  his  Majesty,  who  is  of  this  school, 
is  salaried  a  thousand  dollars  above  our  chief  justice 
of  the  Union ;  and  Monsieur  Dodat,  who  is  immortal 
for  making  sausages  and  the  "  Passage  Vero-Dodat," 
has  at  Pere  la  Chaise  a  monument  towering  like  that 
of  Cheops.  This  is  the  true  "  Kitchen  Cabinet,"  to 
which  ours  is  no  more  to  be  compared  than  the  dish 
water  to  the  dinner.  Very  is  in  the  kitchen,  what  the 
Emperor  was  in  the  camp;  he  is  the  Napoleon  of  gas- 
tronomy. All  flesh  is  nothing  in  his  sight.  Why,  he 
will  transform  you  a  rabbit  to  a  harej  or  an  eel  to  a 
lamprey,  as  easily  as  you  a  Jackson-man  to  a  Whig ; 
and  he  turns  cocks  into  capons,  and  vice  versa,  by  the 
simple  artifice  of  a  sauce.  You,  indeed,  condense  the 
sense  of  a  whole  community  into  a  single  head  of  a 
senator,  or  a  President;  and  he  just  as  easily  a  whole 
flock  of  geese  into  a  single  goose.  You,  it  is  true,  pos- 
sess the  wonderful  art,  all  know  in  what  excellence, 
of  puffing  a  man  up  beyond  the  natural  measure  of  his 
merits,  and  just  so  Monsieur   Very   will    puff  you   a 


84  THE  BILL  OF  FARE. 

goose's  liver,  however   unmathematical  it  may  seem, 
beyond  the  size  of  the  whole  goose. 

Now  in  the  midst  of  all  this  skill  and  profusion,  "the 
devil's  in  it  if  yon  cannot  dine;"  yet  have  I  perished 
myself  several  times  of  hunger  in  the  very  midst  of  this 
Palais  Royal.  It  is  not  enough  that  a  table  be  loaded 
with  its  dishes,  there  must  be  science  to  call  them  by 
their  names,  and  taste  to  discriminate  their  uses.  What 
can  you  do  with  an  Iroquois  from  the  "  Sharp  Mountain," 
who  does  not  know  that  sauce  for  a  gander  is  not  sauce 
for  a  goose.  Unless  you  have  studied  the  nomenclature, 
which  is  about  equal  to  a  first  course  of  anatomy,  you 
are  no  more  fit  to  enjoy  a  dinner  at  Very's  than  Tantalus 
in  his  lake.  For  example,  the  gargon  will  present  you 
a  bill  of  fare  as  big  as  your  prayer-book  ;  you  open  it ;  the 
first  page  presents  you  thirty  soups,  (classically  polages,) 
and  there  you  are  to  choose  between  a  " pure',"  a 
"  consomme""  "  a  la  Julicn,  a  la  Beauvais,  a  la  Bonne 
Femme"  &c.  &c.  I  prefer  the  "  consomme,"  and  I  will 
tell  you  how  it  is  made.  It  is  a  piece  of  choice  beef 
and  capon  boiled  many  hours  Over  a  slow  fire  to  a  jelly, 
and  the  juices  concentrated  and  served  without  any 
extraneous  mixture.  The  "  Julien"  is  a  pot  pourri 
of  all  that  is  edible  or  potable  in  the  list  of  human 
aliments.  It  is  a  soup  for  which,  if  rightly  made,  an 
epicure  would  give  away  his  birthright :  it  was  in- 
vented, not  by  Julian  the  Apostate,  but  by  Monsieur 
Julien  of  the  Palais  Royal.  The  fluids  being  settled,  you 
will  turn  then  to  the  following  page  for  the  solids: 
"  Papillottes  de  Levreaud"  "filet  a  la  Neapolitaine" 
"  vol-au-vent"  "  scolope  de  saumon"  "  ozufau  miroir" 
"  riz  saute  a  la  glace"  "  pique  aux  truffles"  &c.  &c. 
Alas,  my  poor  roasting,  and  frying  countrymen  !  There 
is  not  a  day  but  I  see  some  poor  Yankee  scratching  his 


THE  MILLE  COLONNES.  85 

head  in  despair  over  this  crabbed  vocabulary  of  French 
dishes.  Your  best  way  in  this  emergency  is  to  call  the 
gargon;  and  leave  all  to  him,  and  sit  still  like  a  good 
child,  and  take  what  is  given  to  you.  I  have  known 
many  a  one  to  run  all  over  Paris  for  a  beaf-steak,  and/ 
when  he  has  got  it,  it  was  a  horse's  rump.  My  advice' 
is  that  no  one  come  to  Paris  to  dine  in  mean  houses  on 
cheap  dinners;  to  eat  cats  for  hares,  and  have  snails 
and  chalk  for  his  cream.  You  are  no  more  sure  of  the 
ingredients  of  a  dish  under  the  disguises  of  k  French 
cookery,  than  of  men's  sentiments  from  their  faces  or 
professions.  You  can  get,  to  begin  with,  olives,  and 
eggs  boiled,  and  poached ;  all  that  remains  of  old  sim- 
plicity ;  if  you  know  how  to  ask  for  them;  if  not,  carry 
the  shells  about  with  you  in  your  pocket. 

We  will  dine  to-morrow  at  the  "  Mille  Co/on?ies." 
Ladies  often  step  into  this  cafe  to  be  reflected  ;  you  can 
see  here  all  your  faces,  and  behind  and  before  yon,  as 
conveniently  as  Janus.  One  always  enters  this  thres- 
hold with  reverence.  It  has  dined  the  Holy  Alliance. 
Besides  the  usual  officers  and  attendants,  you  will 
sometimes  see  here  a  little  man,  grave,  distrait  and 
meditative;  do  not  disturb  him:  he  is,  perhaps,  busy 
about  the  projet  of  some  new  sauce.  He  will  often 
start  abruptly,  and  leave  you  in  a  phrase;  it  is  not  in- 
civility; he  has  just  conceived  a  dish,  and  is  going  out 
to  execute  it,  or  write  it  upon  his  tablets.  You  must 
not  expect  to  see  him  before  one ;  for  no  one  is  allowed 
to  intrude  upon  the  freshness  of  his  morning  studies. 
"  Where  is  your  master  ?"  said  a  person  lately,  inquiring 
of  the  waiter,  who  replied,  with  the  air  of  one  feeling  the 
importance  of  his  functions,  "  Monsieur,  il  ?i'est  pas 
visible;  il  compose."  The  French  are  not  copyists  in 
cookery,  no  more  than  in  fashions.  They  are  invent- 
vol.  i. — 8 


86  RULES  FOR  DINING. 

ors,  and  this  keeps  the  imagination  on  the  rack.     Yon 
will  remark  that  people  always  excel   in   those  things 
which  they  invent,  and  ate  always  mediocre  in  those 
things  which  they  imitate.    After  yonr   potnge,  which 
yon  must  cat  sparingly,  and  without  bread,  (lor  bread 
will  satiate,  and  spoil  the  rest  of  your  dinner,)  you  will 
take  a  little  "vin  ordinaire,"  or  pure  burgundy,  waiting 
for  your  first  course;  and  you  will  just  cast  a  look  over 
the  official  part  of  the  Moniteur,  for  there  is  no  knowing 
when  one  may  be  made  a  peer  of  France;  and  on  re- 
ceiving one  dish,  always  command  the  next.     After  the 
dessert  you  will  read  the  news  all  around  ;  the  Message?', 
Gazette,  Constitutionnel,  Ddbats,  Quutidienne,  Na- 
tional and  the    Charivari ;  and  after  coffee  you  may 
amuse  yourself  at  checkers;  improve  your  intellects  at 
domino,  or  yonr  morals  by  a  game  of  chess.    In  looking 
about  the  room,  you  will  see  a  great  number  of  guests, 
perhaps  a  hundred,  not  in  stalls,  as  in  our  eating-houses, 
and  the  stables,  but  seated  at  white  marble  tables,  in  an 
open  and  elegant  saloon,  the  wall  tapestried  with  mir- 
rors.    If  it  be  a  serious  gentleman  reading  deliberately 
the  newspaper  over  his  dessert,  careless  or  contemptuous 
of  what  is  going  on  around  him,  and  drinking  his  bottle 
of  champagne   alone,  that   is  an   Englishman.     If   a 
Parlie  carrf,  that  is,  a  couple  of  ladies  and  their  cava- 
liers, dining  with  much  noise  and   claret,  observing  a 
succession  and  analogy  of  dishes,  swallowing  their  wine 
drop    by   drop,  as   I   read  your   letters,  fearing   lest  it 
should  come  too  soon  to  an  end  ;  and  prolonging  ex- 
pressly the  enjoyments  of  the  repast;  these  are  French 
people ;  or  if  you  see  a  couple  of  lads,  hurried  and  impa- 
tient, and  rating  the  waiters  in  no  gentle  terms:  "  D n 

your  eyes,  why  don't  you  bring  in  the  dinner?  and  take 
away  that  broth  ;  and  your  black  bottle:   who  the  devil 


STORES  OF  JEWELRY.  87 

wants  your  vinegar,  and  your  dishwater,  and  your  bibs 
too?  And  bring  us,  if  you  can,  a  whole  chicken's  leg  at 
once,  and  not  at  seven  different  times," — these  are  from 
the  "  Far  West,"  and  a  week  old  in  Paris.  How  should 
these  little  snacks  of  a  French  table  not  seem  egre 
giously  mean  to  an  American,  who  is  used  to  dine  in 
fifteen  minutes,  even  on  a  holiday,  and  to  see  a  whole 
hog  barbecued?  The  French  dine  to  gratify,  we  to 
appease  appetite :  we  demolish  a  dinner ;  they  eat  it. 
The  guests  who  frequent  these  cafes  are  regular  or 
flying  visitors;  some  are  accidental,  others  occasional, 
dining  by  agreement  to  enjoy  each  other's  company; 
others  again  are  families  who  dine  out  for  a  change,  or 
to  give  a  respite  to  their  servants:  and  others  live  here, 
a  kind  of  stereotype  customers,  altogether ;  and  these 
houses  serve,  in  addition  to  their  province  of  eating  and 
drinking,  as  places  of  conference  or  clubs  ;  it  is  here  that 
men  communicate  on  political  subjects  ;  that  news  is 
circulated;  and  public  opinion  formed;  and  that  kings 
are  expelled,  and  others  are  set  up  on  their  thrones. 

On  a  range  with  the  restaurants,  and  over  them,  you 
will  see  lodged  many  of  the  fine  arts;  painters,  engrav- 
ers, dentists,  barbers ;  and  beautiful  sultanas  look  out 
from  the  highest  windows  upon  these  fair  dominions, 
to  which  the  severity  of  French  morals  has  forbidden 
them  access.  In  the  lower  rooms,  on  a  level  with  the 
area  of  the  garden,  and  peeping  through  the  colonnade, 
west  and  east,  are  riches  almost  immeasurable,  in  ex- 
quisite and  fashionable  apparel  for  both  sexes,  and  in 
jewelry,  trinkets  and  perfumery.  This  trade,  which  in 
other  cities  is  peddling  and  huckstering,  assumes  here 
the  dignity  of  a  great  commercial  interest,  and  its  pro- 
ductions are  reckoned  at  upwards  of  a  hundred  millions 
of  francs.     The  stores  themselves  are  so  little,  and  yet 


88  WORKS  OF  ART. 

so  pretty,  that  I  have  thoughts  of  sending  you  one  of 
them  over  hy  the  packet.  Their  arrangements  are 
changed  every  hour,  so  as  to  keep  up  a  continuous 
emotion,  and  a  scries  of  agreeable  excitements,  and  so 
as  to  present  yon  a  new  set  of  temptations  twelve  times 
a  day.  Everything  that  human  industry,  sharpened 
by  necessity,  or  competition  can  effect;  everything 
which  can  excite  an  appetite,  can  heighten  a  beauty,  or 
hide  a  deformity,  is  here — I  begin  to  love  art  almost  as 
well  as  nature;  I  begin  to  love  mother  Eve  in  her 
fig  leaves,  as  well  as  in  her  unaproned  innocence. 
After  all  what  is  nature  to  us  without  art?  Education 
is  art.  Indeed,  rightly  considered,  art  itself  is  nature; 
she  has  but  left  a  part  of  her  work  unfinished  to  urge 
the  industry  and  whet  the  ingenuity  of  man.  In  these 
stores,  everything  is  sacrificed  to  the  shop;  there  is  no 
accommodation  for  the  household  gods.  Persons  with 
their  families — indeed,  I  have  heard  that  even  persons 
in  the  family  way,  are  not  allowed  to  inhabit  here.  A 
man  hoards  space,  as  a  miser  hoards  money.  It  is  a 
qualification  indispensable  in  a  clerk,  to  be  of  a  slender 
capacity.  You  would  think  you  were  in  Lilliput,  served 
by  the  fairies.  The  shop-girls,  especially,  are  of  such 
exquisite  exility  of  figure,  you  can  almost  take  one  of 
them  between  your  thumb  and  finger,  and  set  her  on 
the  counter. 

In  our  country,  we  have  nothing  yet  to  show  in  the 
way  of  great  works  of  art.  We  have  nature,  indeed 
wild  and  beautiful,  but  without  historic  associations; 
tradition  is  dumb,  and  the  "  memory  of  man"  runs  back 
to  the  Eden  of  our  race.  It  is  a  mighty  advantage  these 
old  countries  have  over  us;  their  reminiscences,  their 
traditions,  and  their  antiquities.  What  would  be  the 
Tower,  but  for  hump-back  Richard  and  the  babes?  or, 


THE  CARDINAL  DE  RICHELIEU.  89 

what  Hounslow  Heath,  but  for  the  ghosts  of  those  who 
have  been  murdered  there?  and  in  these  countries, 
which  have  no  beginning,  Ihey  can  supply  the  vacant 
space  into  which  authentic  history  does  not  venture,  by 
legends  and  romances ;  and  no  matter  how  obscure  may 
be  one  of  their  mountains  and  lakes,  they  can  lie  it  into 
a  reputation.  Some  things  are  beautiful  from  their 
accessories  alone  ;  as  lords  are  sometimes  lords  only  from 
their  equipages.  — What  is  there  beautiful  in  a  ruin? 
We  have  plains  as  desolate  as  Babylon,  and  no  one 
looks  at  them. 

The  Palais  Royal,  however  magnificent  as  a  bazaar, 
has  still  higher  and  better  merits.  It  is  the  history  of 
some  of  the  most  remarkable  personages  and  events  of 
the  last  two  ages.  Some  day  when  we  have  a  ticket 
from  the  "  Intendant  de  sa  Majest6,"  I  will  show  you 
them  all ;  and  first,  that  very  celebrated  old  fop  the  Car- 
dinal de  Richelieu,  who  used  to  strut,  with  his  train  of 
a  monarch,  through  this  very  garden,  and  these  very 
halls.  You  shall  see  the  very  theatre  upon  which  he 
represented  his  woful  tragedies;  his  flatterers  crowding 
around  with  wonderful  grimace,  and  Corneille's  Muse 
cowering  her  timid  wings  in  silence.  As  you  are  a 
lady  and  love  trinkets,  I  will  show  you,  if  it  yet  exists, 
that  great  miracle  of  massive  gold  and  diamonds,  the 
Cardinal's  Chapel;  the  two  candlesticks  valued  at  a 
hundred  thousand  livres  ;  the  cross,  twenty-two  inches 
high,  and  of  pure  gold  ;  the  Christ  of  the  same  metal, 
and  the  crown  and  drapery  all  glittering  in  diamonds. 
-And  you  shall  see  the  prayer-book,  too,  encased  in 
laminae  of  gold  ;  in  the  centre,  the  cardinal  holding  up 
the  globe;  and  from  the  four  corners,  four  angels 
placing  a  crown  upon  his  head.  If  you  like,  I  will  show 
you,  also,  that  other  smooth-faced  rogue,  scarcely  his 

8* 


90  THE  CARDINAL'S  CHAPEL. 

inferior  in  political  ability,  the  Cardinal  Mazarin,  who 
put  the  king's  money  in  his  pocket,  and  stinted  his  little 
majesty  in  shirts.  And  if  you  love  more  Cardinals,  I  will 
show  you  yet  another,  more  witty,  and  not  less  profli- 
gate and  debauched  than  the  other  two,  the  Cardinal  de 
Retz.  When  we  read  his  memoirs  together,  little  did 
we  foresee  that,  one  day,  we  should  look  into  the  very 
chambers  in  which  he  held  his  nightly  councils,  with 
his  fellow  conspirators,  plotting  his  rabble  Revolution 
of  the  Fronde.  You  shall  see  also  Turenne  and  the 
great  Conde.  That  gentleman  gathering  maxims — 
maxims  of  life,  at  the  court  of  Mazarin! — that  is  M.  le 
due  de  Rochefaucauld :  and  I  will  introduce  you  to 
Madame  de  Motteville,  and  other  famous  wits  and 
beauties  of  those  times.  In  the  room  just  opposite, 
where  one  dines  upon  soup,  three  courses  and  a  dessert, 
at  forty  sous,  I  will  show  you  the  little  "  Grand  Mo- 
narque"  in  his  cradle.  The  dear  little  thing!  It  was 
here  the  great  man  first  began ;  it  was  here  he  crept, 
I  presume  very  unwillingly,  to  school ;  here  he  began  to 
seek  the  bubble  reputation,  and  to  sigh  at  the  feet 
(worthy  a  better  devotion)  of  the  "  humble  violet," 
Madame  la  Valliere.  Just  over  head,  used  to  sup,  with 
the  Duke  of  Orleans  and  his  family,  Doctor  Franklin ; 
and  here  Madame  de  Genlis  gave  lessons  to  the  little 
Louis  Philippe,  causing  his  most  Christian  Majesty  to 
walk  fifteen  miles  a  day,  in  shoes  with  leaden  soles. 
The  Spartans  did  better,  who,  to  make  their  kings  hardy 
and  robust,  had  them  flogged  daily  at  the  shrine  of 
some  pagan  goddess.  In  one  of  these  rooms,  the  mob 
Republic  held,  for  awhile,  its  meetings  ;  and  in  this  very 
garden,  the  tri-colored  cockade  was  adopted,  at  a  great 
meeting  in  '89,  as  the  Revolutionary  emblem.  On  the 
south  end,  is  a   gallery   of  paintings,  they  say,  very 


THE  GARDENS.  '  91 

splendid.  It  was  plundered  hi  the  Revolution,  and 
since  restored  by  the  present  proprietor,  the  king.  If 
any  one  steals  a  picture  or  a  book  in  Paris,  and  can 
prove  quiet  possession  for  a  certain  time,  it  is  a  vested 
right,  and  the  owner  is  obliged  to  buy  back  his  goods 
from  the  thief. 

I  sometimes  walk  in  this  garden  with  the  scholars 
and  the  bonnes,  of  a  morning,  but  it  is  disagreeable ;  it 
is  not  yet  aired,  and  has  a  stale  stupefactive  smell  from 
the  preceding  night's  banquet.  It  is  by  degrees  venti- 
lated and  life  begins  to  flow  into  it  about  ten.  Then 
the  readers  of  news  begin  to  gravitate  around  Monsieur 
Perussault's  pavilion.  There  is  a  dial  here  which 
announces,  with  a  loud  detonation,  twelve  ;  and  as  the 
important  hour  approaches,  every  one  having  a  watch 
takes  it  out,  and  looks  up  with  compressed  lips,  and 
waits  in  uno  oblntu  until  Apollo  has  fired  off  his  can- 
non ;  then  quick  he  twirls  about  the  hands,  and  replaces 
it  complacently  in  his  fob,  and  walks  away  very  happy 
to  have  the  official  hour  in  his  pocket.  You  will  see, 
also,  a  few  badeaitx,  who  always  arrive  just  afterwards, 
and  stand  the  same  way  looking  up  for  half  an  hour  or 
so,  till  informed  that  the  time  has  already  gone  off. 

It  is  of  a  hot  summer  evening  that  this  garden  is 
unrivaled  in  beauty.  You  swim  in  a  glare  of  light;  the 
gas  flashes  from  under  the  arcades ;  lamps  innumerable 
shine  through  the  interior,  and  look  down  from  five 
hundred  windows  above.  It  is  not  night,  it  is  "but  the 
daylight  sick."  It  is  haunted  by  its  company,  and  is 
full  of  life  to  the  latest  hours,  and  revelry  holds  her 
gambols  here,  when  Paris  everywhere  over  the  im- 
mense city  is  lulled  into  its  midnight  slumbers.  When 
summer  has  turned  round  upon  its  axis  and  the  first 
chills  of  autumn  frighten  joy  from  her  court,  she  retires 


92  GAMBLING  HOUSES. 

then  tolier  last  hold,  the  "  Galerie  (V Orleans."  This 
delightful  promenade  extends  across  the  south  end  of 
the  garden  ;  it  is  three  hundred  feet  long  by  thirty  wide ; 
its  roof  is  of  glass  and  its  pavement  of  tesselated  marble ; 
it  is  bounded  on  both  sides  by  stores  and  cafes,  and 
reading-rooms,  eighteen  feet  square;  renting  annually 
at  four  thousand  francs  each.  It  is  kept  warm  enough 
for  its  company  in  winter  and  is  a  fashionable  resort 
during  that  season.  It  is  a  pleasant  walk,  also,  in  the 
twilight  of  a  summer  evening.  I  know  an  ex-professor, 
by  dining  with  him  at  the  same  ordinary,  and  we  walk 
often  under  the  crystal  vaults  of  this  gallery,  and  reason 
whole  evenings  away — now  we  stop,  and  then  walk  on, 
and  then  take  snuff,  and  then  make  a  whole  round  arm 
in  arm,  in  great  gravity  and  silence ;  at  other  times 
being  seated  at  a  marble  table,  we  calmly  unfold  the 
intricate  mazes  of  the  human  mind  and  systems  of 
human  policy;  and  then  we  take  coffee,  with  a  little 
glass  of  cjuirsh.  Last  night  we  reasoned  warmly  upon 
the  nature  of  slavery  till  I  got  mad,  and  while  I  sipped 
and  read  the  newspaper,  he  amused  himself  with  a 
drawing,  (for  he  is  skilled  in  this  art,)  which  he  presented 
me.  It  was  a  Liberty,  of  a  healthy  and  robust  com- 
plexion, her  foot  upon  a  negro  slave.  The  negro 
sympathies  have  waxed  very  warm  in  this  country. 

Four  of  the  houses  just  over  us  are  consecrated  to 
gambling.  They  are  frequented,  however,  by  rather 
the  lower  class  and  rabble  of  the  profession.  They  who 
have  some  regard  to  reputation  go  to  Frascati's,  to  the 
Rue  Richelieu ;  the  more  select  to  the  "  Ccrcle,"  or  to 
the  "  Club  Anglais"  upon  the  Boulevard  and  the  Rue 
de  Grammont;  and  the  "Jockey  Club"  receives  the 
dandies  and  flash  gentlemen  of  the  turf.  The  three  last 
are  of  English  origin,  and  the  "  Club  Anglais"  is  in  the 


PUBLIC  GAMING  HOUSES.  93 

best  English  style.  It  receives  only  the  high  function- 
aries of  the  state,  princes  of  the  blood,  ambassadors  and 
other  eminent  persons,  and  even  these  are- not  admitted 
to  pick  one  another's  pockets  here  unless  known  to  be 
of  good  moral  character.  Games  of  hazard  are  prohi- 
bited, and  the  bets  correspondent  to  the  dignity  of  the 
company.  The  "  Cercle,"  also,  is  frequented  by  the 
upper  sort  of  folk;  it  is  tres  distingue;  and  the  eating 
and  service  are  of  no  common  rate.  The  public  gam- 
bling houses  here  are  authorized  by  government,  and 
pay  for  their  charter  annually  six  and  a  half  millions  of 
francs.  The  government  has  not  thought  it  fit  that  the 
blacklegs  and  courtesans  should  worship  in  the  same 
temple.  The  ladies  have  therefore  been  turned  out, 
poor  things !  to  get  a  living  as  they  can  on  the  Boule- 
vards and  elsewhere,  and  the  gamblers  have  the  Pa- 
lais Royal  all  to  themselves.  But  why  do  not  "the 
Chambers"  extend  this  system  of  financial  economy 
to  other  moral  offences,  as  stealing,  drunkenness,  and 
adultery?  I  would  charter  them  every  one,  and  enrich 
the  state.  If  we  can  succeed  in  making  a  vice  respecta- 
ble, it  is  no  vice  at  all;  and  why  should  not  a  proper 
protection  of  government  and  general  custom  render 
gambling  or  any  vice  as  respectable  as  thieving  or 
infanticide  was  at  Sparta,  or  as  duelling  and  privateer- 
ing are  amongst  the  modern  civilized  nations?  The 
matter  is  now  under  discussion,  but  there  are  members 
of  both  houses  who  oppose  these  doctrines;  they  say 
that  the  government,  by  such  license,  becomes  accessory 
to  the  crimes  of  its  subjects,  and  that  bad  passions, 
already  rank  enough  in  human  nature,  should  not  be 
made  a  direct  object  of  education  ;  moreover,  they  find 
it  awkward  that  legislators,  after  having  given  the  whole 
community  a  public  license  to  pick  one  another's  pock- 


94  THE  REV'.   C.   COLTON. 

ets,  should  stand  up  in  the  national  tribune  and  talk 
about  honesty. — There  are  persons  who  have  absurd 
prejudices. 

But  to  be  serious ;  indeed,  I  am  very  well  disposed 
to  such  a  feeling;  I  have  just  fallen  accidentally  upon 
the  story,*  which  every  one  knows,  of  the  unhappy 
Colton.  He  wrote  books  in  recommendation  of  virtue, 
and  critiques  in  reprobation  of  vice,  with  admirable 
talent.  He  was  a  clergyman  by  profession,  and  yet 
became  a  victim  to  this  detestable  passion.  He  sub- 
sisted by  play  several  years  amongst  these  dens  of  the 
Palais  Royal,  and  at  length  falling  into  irretrievable 
misery,  ended  his  life  here  by  suicide.  One  feels  a 
sadness  of  heart  in  looking  upon  the  scene  of  so  horrible 
an  occurrence ;  one  owes  a  tear  to  the  errors  of  genius ; 
to  the  weakness  of  our  common  humanity. 

Gambling  seems  to  be  the  universal  passion ;  the  two 
extremes  of  human  society  are  equally  subject  to  it. 
The  savage  of  Columbia  river  gambles  his  rifle,  and  his 
squaw,  and  like  any  gentleman  of  the  "  Cercle,"  commits 
suicide  in  his  despair.  Billiards,  cards,  Pharo  and 
other  games  of  hazard,  are  to  be  found  at  every  hundred 
steps,  in  every  street  and  alley  of  Paris;  haunted  by 
blacklegs  in  waiting  for  your  purse  ;  and  there  is  scarce 
a  private  ball  or  soiree,  even  to  those  of  the  court,  in 
which  immense  sums  are  not  lost  and  won,  by  gambling. 
The  shuffling  of  cards  or  rattling  of  dice  is  a  part  of  the 
music  of  every  Parisian  saloon,  and  many  fathers  of 
families  of  the  first  rank  get  a  living  by  it.  To  know 
how  much  better  it  is  in  London,  one  has  only  to  read  the 
London  books.  And  how  much  better  is  it  in  America? 
To  know  this,  you  have  only  to  visit  our  Virginia 
Springs  and  other  places  of  fashionable  resort.  You 
will  hear  there  the  instruments  of  gambling  at  every 


HELLS  OF  THE  PALAIS  ROYAL.  95 

hour  of  the  night;  and  yon  will  see  tables,  covered  with 
the  infamous  gold,  set  out  in  the  shade  during  the  day  ; 
and  you  will  see  sealed  around  these  tables  those  who 
make  the  laws  for  "  the  only  Republic  upon  the  earth," 
the  members  of  the  American  Congress — with  the  same 
solemn  gravity  as  if  holding  counsel  upon  the  destinies 
of  the  nation.  I  have  seen  the  highest  officer  of  the 
House  of  Representatives  step  from  the  loo-table  to  the 
Speaker's  chair!  The  vices  of  the  higher  orders  have 
this  to  aggravate  their  enormity,  that  the  lower  world 
is  formed  and  encouraged  by  their  example.  Gambling 
in  Virginia  is  a  penitentiary  offence. 

I  have  visited  these  "  Hells"  of  the  Palais  Royal. 
Their  numbers  are  113,  129,  and  154  on  the  eastern 
gallery,  and  number  36,  on  the  western;  and  from  the 
looks  of  the  company,  I  presume  one  could  get  here 
very  soon  all  the  acquirements  by  which  a  man  may  be 
put  in  the  way  of  being  hanged.  Bars  are  placed 
before  the  windows  by  the  humanity  of  the  government, 
to  prevent  his  Majesty's  subjects  and  others  from  throw- 
ing away  their  precious  lives  in  their  fits  of  despair. 

That  tall  and  robust,  and  stern-looking  man  between 
fifty  and  sixty,  in  an  old  tattered  great  coat,  and  walk- 
ing in  the  gait  of  a  conspirator,  is  Chodruc  Duclos.  He 
was  once  the  friend  of  Count  Peyronnet  as  they  say :  he 
lavished  his  fortune  on  him,  and  fought  his  duels.  The 
Count  became  minister  and  Duclos  poor;  he  claimed  his 
protection,  and  was  rejected  by  the  ungrateful  minister. 
He  now  walks  here  daily  at  the  same  hour,  like  some 
mysterious,  unearthly  being.  He  never  speaks ;  and 
the  last  smile  has  died  upon  his  lips. 

I  have  a  mind  to  tell  you  a  queer  anecdote  of  myself, 
which  will  fill  the  rest  of  this  page  without  much  chang- 
ing the  subject.     In  a  walk  through  the  Rue  Richelieu 


96         PEEP  INTO  A  FASHIONABLE  SALOON. 

a  few  evenings  ago  with  a  wag  of  an  Englishman,  a 
fellow-lodger,  he  proposed  to  gratify  me  with  a  peep 
into  one  of  the  evening  rendezvous,  as  he  said,  of  the 
nobility.  I  entered  with  becoming  reverence  through  a 
hall,  where  servants  in  livery  attended  taking  our  hats 
and  canes,  with  a  princely  ceremony,  and  bringing  us 
refreshments.  Tables  in  the  several  rooms  were  covered 
with  gold,  at  which  gentlemen  and  ladies  were  playing, 
and  others  were  looking  on  intently  and  silently.  Around 
about,  some  were  coteried  in  corners,  others  were  stroll- 
ing in  groups  or  pairs  through  the  rooms;  and  others 
again  were  rambling  carelessly  through  the  walks  of 
an  adjacent  garden  of  flowers  and  shrubbery,  illumi- 
nated, or  were  seated  in  secret  conversation  amongst 
its  arbors. 

"That  gentleman,"  said  my  companion,  "on  the 
right,  with  the  Adonis  neck,  with  myrrhed  and  glossy 
ringlets,  is  the  Prince  Puckler  Muskau."  And  when 
I  had  looked  at  him  sufficiently,  "That  gentleman  on 
the  left,  in  conversation  with  Don — Don — Don — I  forget 
his  name — that  is  Prince  Carrimanico,  of  Rome;  and 
that  just  in  front  is  the  Baron  Blowminossoff,  from 
Petersburg."  I  stared  particularly  at  my  Lord  Brough- 
am, who  had  just  come  over  to  make  a  tour  upon  the 
continent  for  his  health.  He  was  attenuated  by  sickness 
and  the  cares  of  business,  but  I  could  discern  distinctly 
the  great  traits  of  his  character — the  lowering  indigna- 
tion on  his  brow,  the  bitter  curl  and  sarcasm  on  his  lip, 
and  the  impetuous  and  overwhelming  energy  which 
distinguish  this  great  statesman,  upon  his  strongly 
marked  features;  and  if  I  had  not  been  informed  of  his 
name,  I  should  have  marked  him  out  at  once  as  some 
eminent  personage ;  and  from  a  certain  abrupt  and 
fidgety  manner,  "  a  hasty  scratch  at  the  back  of  his 


LADIES  AT  FRASCATl's.  97 

head,  accompanied  with  two  or  three  twitches  of  the 
nose,"  I  should  have  suspected  him  for  nobody  else 
than  the  greatest  statesman  and  orator  of  Europe,  my 
Lord  Brougham.  Among  the  ladies,  also,  several  were 
highly  distinguished.  There  were  Madame  la  Con- 
tesse  de  Trotteville,  and  her  beautiful  cousin  Mademoi- 
selle Trottini,  from  Naples,  with  several  of  the  French 
nobility ;  and  there  was  the  Countess  of  Crumple,  and  a 
fat  lady  Madam  Von  Swellemburg,  and  others  of  the 
Dutch  and  English  gentry.  I  fancied  that  a  duchess 
on  my  left  (I  forget  her  name)  had  a  haughty  and 
supercilious  air,  as  if  she  felt  the  dignity  of  her  blood, 
and  the  length  of  her  genealogy.  She  seemed  as  if  not 
pleased  that  everybody  should  be  introduced,  and 
wished  some  place  more  exclusive.  But  there  was  one 
young  and  beautiful  creature — but  so  beautiful  that  I 
could  not  with  all  my  efforts  keep  my  eyes  off  her — 
who,  I  observed, more  than  once  reciprocated  my  inqui- 
sitive looks.  I  felt  flattered  at  being  the  object  of  her 
attention.  The  elegant  creature!  thought  I;  what  a 
simplicity  and  sweetness  of  expression  !  and  how  strange, 
that,  brought  up  amidst  the  art  and  refinement  of  a 
court,  she  should  retain  all  the  innocence  of  the  dove 
upon  her  countenance.  In  the  midst  of  this  admira- 
tion, and  when  I  had  just  got  myself  almost  bowed  to 
by  another  countess,  my  companion  let  in  the  light 
upon  the  magic  lantern.  "These,"  said  he,  "are 
women  of  the  town,  and  these  are  gamblers  and  pick_ 
pockets,  who  come  hither  to  Monsieur  Frascati's  to  rob 
and  ruin  one  another."  I  give  you  this  for  your  pri- 
vate ear ;  if  you  tell  it,  mercy  on  me,  I  shall  never  hear 
the  last  of  it.  I  shall  be  sung  all  over  the  village. 
There  are  persons  there,  of  half  my  years,  who  would 
hove  detected  such  company  at  once.     As  I  was  going 

VOL.  T. — 9 


98  TIIK  TUILERIKS. 

away,  Miss  Emeline,   Miss  Adelaide,    and    Madame 
Rosalie,  gave  me  their  cards. 

I  saw  this  morning  the  queen  and  the  king's  most 
excellent  majesty.  They  passed  through  the  Champs 
Elysees  to  their  country  habitation  at  Neuilly.  The 
equipage  was  a  plain  carriage  with  six  horses;  a  pos- 
tillion on  a  front  and  one  on  a  rear  horse ;  two  other 
carriages  and  four,  and  guards.  To  see  a  king  for  the 
first  .time  is  an  event.  ^A'm't  you  mad? — you  who 
never  saw  anything  over  there  bigger  than  his  most 
unchristian  Majesty  Black  Hawk,  and  Higgle wiggin 
his  squaw?  I  have  now  come  to  the  interesting  part 
of  this  letter.     I  am  yours. 


LETTER    V. 

The  Tuileries — The  gardens — The  statues — The  Cabinets  de  lec- 
ture— The  king's  band — Regulations  of  the  gardens — Yankee 
modesty — ihe  English  parks — Proper  estimate  of  riches — Policy 
of  cultivating  a  taste  for  innocent  pleasures — Advantages  of  gar- 
dens— Should  be  made  ornamental — Cause  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion— Mr.  Burke's  notion  of  the  English  parks — Climate  of  France. 

Paris,  July  24th,  1835. 
I  am  going  now  to  escort  you  to  the  Tuileries,  for 
which  you  must  scramble  through  a  few  filthy  lanes  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  towards  the  southwest.  Who  would 
live  in  this  rank  old  Paris  if  it  was  not  for  its  gardens? 
This  garden  is  in  the  midst  of  the  city,  and  contains 
near  a  hundred  acres  of  ground.     It  has  the  Seine  on 


THE  GARDENS.  99 

the  south  side,  the  Palace  of  the  Tuileries  on  the  east, 
and  on  the  north  the  beautiful  houses  of  the  Rue  Rivoli, 
the  street  intervening,  and  on  the  west  the  Place  Louis 
XV.  between  it  and  the  Champs  Elysees.  The  whole 
is  enclosed  with  an  iron  railing  tipped  with  gold  near 
the  Palace,  and  terraces  having  a  double  row  of  tile 
trees  are  raised  along  the  north  and  south  sides.  A 
beautiful  parterre  is  spread  out  in  front  of  the  Palace, 
of  oranges,  red  rosed  laurels,  and  other  shrubbery,  with 
a  reservoir,  jets  d'eaux,  vases  and  statues.  The  chief 
walks  also  have  orange  trees  on  both  margins  during 
the  summer,  and  one  of  these  as  wide  as  Chestnut  street, 
•runs  from  the  centre  Pavilion  of  the  Palace  through  the 
middle  of  the  garden,  and  continuing  up  through  the 
Champs  Elysees  to  the  Barriere  de  PEtoile,  terminates 
in  a  full  view  of  the  great  triumphal  arch  of  Napoleon. 
In  the  interior  are  plots  of  woodland,  and  chairs  upon 
which,  at  two  sous  the  sitting,  you  may  repose  or  read 
in  the  shade,  and  little  cabinets,  which  offer  you  for  a 
sou  your  choice  of  the  newspapers.  The  area  is  of 
hard  earth  and  gravel,  relieved  here  and  there  by  en- 
closures of  verdure,  and  on  the  west  end  an  octagonal 
lake  is  inhabited  by  swans,  and  fishes  and  river  gods, 
and  a  fountain  is  jetting  its  silvery  streams  in  the  air. 
This  is  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries. — The  whole  surface 
is  sprinkled  with  heathen  mythology.  Hercules  stran- 
gles the  Hydra,  Theseus  deals  blows  to  the  Minotaur. 
Prometheus  sits  sullen  on  his  rock,  and  Antinous  is  mad 
to  see  his  own  gardens  outdone,  and  the  Pius  iEneas, 
little  Jule  by  the  hand,  bears  off  his  aged  parent  upon 
his  shoulders.  Venus  too  looks  beautiful  a  straddle  of 
a  tortoise,  and  Ceres  is  beautiful,  tier  head  coiffed  in  the 
latest  fashion  with  sheaves  of  wheat.  On  the  side  next 
the  Palace  you  will  see  a  knife-grinder,  whom  every- 


100  BKAUTIbUL  WALKS. 

I 

body  admires,  and  statues  of  ancient  heroes  and  states- 
men majestic  on  their  pedestals,  Pericles,  Cincinnatus, 
Scipio,  Ccesar  and  Spartacus.  You  may  imagine  what  life 
these  images,  set  out  alone  and  in  groups  through  the 
garden,  give  to  the  perspective.— The  whole  scene  is  as 
beautiful  as  my  description  of  it  is  detestable.  The 
French  are  justly  proud  of  this  garden  and  are  every 
year  increasing  the  quantity  of  its  statuary;  it  will 
become  at  length  one  of  the  splendid  galleries  of  the 
capital;  its  silent  lessons  improving  the  puhlic  taste  in 
the  arts  and  elegancies  of  life,  how  much  better  thau  the 
lessons  of  the  schools  !  I  like  to  see,  in  spite  of  English 
authority,  a  good  deal  of  art  in  a  city  garden ;  a  rude 
and  uncivilized  field  seems  to  me  no  more  appropriate 
there  than  a  savage  and  unpolished  community. 

In  this  garden  there  is  no  drinking,  no  smoking,  no 
long  faces  waiting  the  preliminary  soups,  or  turning 
up  of  noses  over  the  relics  of  a  departed  dinner.  It  is 
•a  spot  sacred  to  the  elegant  and  intellectual  enjoyments. 
The  great  walks  are  filled  every  fine  evening  with  a  full 
stream  of  fashionable  company,  and  that  near  the  Rue 
Rivoli  has  always  a  hedge  of  ladies  extending  along 
each  margin  the  third  of  a  mile.  In  another  section  a 
thousand  or  two  of  children  are  engaged  in  their  infan- 
tile sports,  and  their  army  of  nurses  are  gathering  also 
a  share  of  the  health  and  amusements.  Here  are  the 
most  graceful  little  mothers,  and  children  and  nurses 
of  the  world;  I  will  send  you  over  one  of  each  some  of 
these  days  for  a  pattern. 

How  delightful  to  walk  of  an  early  morning  amidst 
the  silent  congregation  of  statues  of  eminent  men,  of 
heroes,  and  mythological  deities.  I  often  rise  with  the 
first  dawn  for  the  sole  luxury  of  this  enjoyment.  Very 
early  the  Cabinet  de  lecture  opens  its  treasures  to  the 


.THE  LONELY  STRANGER.  101 

anxious  politicians,  who  sit  retired  here  and  there 
through  the  shady  elms.  One  with  a  doctrinal  air 
spreads  open  the  "  Journal  des  Debate ;"  he  reads,  ru- 
minates, ponders,  and  now  and  then  writes  down  an 
idea  on  his  tablets ;  another  pours  out  his  whole  spirit 
through  his  tangled  hair  and  grisly  mustaches,  devouring 
the  "National;"  he  rises  sometimes,  clenches  his  two 
fists,  and  sits  down  again  ;  and  a  third,  in  a  neat  and 
venerable  garb,  a  snuff-colored  coat  and  tie-wig,  his 
handkerchief  and  snuff-box  at  his  side  (from  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain),  lays  deliberately  upon  his  lap  the 
"Quotidienne."  And  here  and  there  you  will  see  a 
diligent  schoolboy  preparing  his  college  recitations ; 
perusing  his  Ovid  at  the  side  of  a  Daphne  and  Apollo, 
or  by  a  group  of  Dryads  skulking  behind  an  oak,  or  of 
Naiads  plunging  into  a  fountain.  You  will  see  one 
individual  upon  the  southern  terrace,  his  hands  clasped, 
walking  lonely,  or  standing  still,  his  eyes  stretched  to- 
wards the  west,  till  a  tear  steals  down  his  cheeks.  He 
is  a  stranger,  and  a  thousand  leagues  of  ocean  yawn 
between  him  and  his  native  country !  1  love  this 
terrace  of  all  things  :  it  has  a  look  towards  home.  When 
I  receive  your  letters  I  come  here  to  read  them — and  to 
read  them  ;  and  when  a  pretty  woman  honors  me  with 
her  company,  why  we  come  hither  together,  and  in  this 
shady  hpwer,  I  tell  her  of  our  squaw  wives  and  the 
little  pappooses,  until  the  sun  fades  away  in  the  west. 

All  day  long  this  elegant  saloon  has  its  society,  and 
a  lady  can  walk  in  it,  unaccompanied,  when  and  whither 
she  pleases.  Every  day  is  fashionable,  but  some  more 
than  others;  and  from  four  till  six,  are  the  fashionable 
hours.  The  crowd  by  degrees  thickens,  the  several 
groups  are  formed,  and  towards  four,  the  panorama  is 
complete.     This  is  the  time  that  one  stands  gaping  at 

9* 


102  A  SCENE  OF  ENCHANTMENT. 

the  long  file  of  ladies  upon  each  side  of  the  wide  walk, 
or  that  one  strolls  up  and  down  eyeing  them  along  the 
^intervening  avenue,  or  airs  or  fans  one's  idle  minutes 
upon  the  terrace  overlooking  this  scene  of  enchantment. 
I  never  venture  in  here,  without  saying  that  part  of  the 
Lord's  prayer  about  temptation,  which  I  used  to  leave 
out  in  the  Coal  Region.  At  length  the  day  is  subdued, 
and  the  long  glimmering  twilight,  peculiar  to  these 
northern  climates,  wanes  away  gently  into  night.  Then 
the  king's  band  strikes  up  its  concert  from  the  front  of 
the  palace,  and  then  you 'will  see  the  graveled  walk 
leading  to  the  steps  of  the  royal  residence,  and  the 
transversal  alley,  filled  with  ten  thousand  listeners, 
bound  in  the  spell  of  Rosiui  and  Mozart  for  an  hour ;  an 
hour  too,  in  which  the  air  has  a  more  balmy  fragrance, 
and  the  music  a  more  delicious  harmony.  Innumerable 
lights  in  the  meantime  shine  out  from  the  Palace 
windows  and  the  Rue  Rivoli,  and  glimmer  through  the 
tufted  trees  of  the  garden.  The  plantation  of  elms  has 
also  at  this  hour  its  little  enchantments.  Lovers  using 
the  sweet  opportunities  of  the  night,  and  seated  apart 
from  the  crowd,  breathe  their  soft  whisperings  into  each 
other's  ears,  in  a  better  music  than  the  king's,  and  you 
can  see  visions  of  men  and  women,  just  flit  by  you  now 
and  then  in  the  doubtful  light,  and  fade  away  into  the 
thin  air.  But  I  am  venturing  upon  the  poetical  point 
of  my  description,  which  I  had  better  leave  to  your 
fancy.  Alas,  I  squandered  away  all  my  poetry  last 
week  upon  the  Palais  Royal,  and  have  left  myself* 
nothing  but  mere  prose  to  describe  to  you  the  exquisite 
and  incomparable  Tuileries. 

The  regulations  of  this  garden  are  simple.  The 
world  is  admitted,  if  trim  and  dressed  decently,  with  the 
morning  dawn,  and  is  dispersed  about  nine  in  the  even- 


THE  MODEST  YANKEE.  103 

ing  by  the  beating  of  a  drum.  One  is  not  permitted 
to  enter  with  anything  of  a  large  bundle.  The  minister 
of  finance  was  stopped  the  other  day ;  he  was  attempt- 
ing to  enter  with  the  budget  for  this  year  !  The  rules 
are  enforced  by  an  individual  accoutred  in  a  beard, 
mustaches,  red  breeches  and  a  carbine,  who  walks 
gravely  up  and  down  at  the  entrance  of  each  gate. 

The  statues  (Lucretia  and  ail)  are  exposed  in  a  state 
of  the  most  unsophisticated  nakedness.  If  mother  Eve 
should  come  back,  she  would  find  things  here  just  as  she 
left  them,  with  the  exception  of  the  aprons.  This  to  us 
green  Americans,  at  our  arrival,  is  a  subject  of  great 
scandal.  1  had  with  me  a  modest  Yankee  (please  excuse 
the  tautology)  on  my  first  visit  here,  and  we  stumbled 
first  on  a  Venus  de  Medici,  which  was  passable,  for  she 
apologized  manibus  passis  for  her  deshabille  as  well  as 
she  could  ;  then  a  Hercules,  and  at  length  we  fell  in  with 
a  Venus  just  leaving  her  bath.  "  Come,"  said  he,  inter- 
rupting my  curiosity,  and  drawing  me  aside,  "  let  us  go 
out;  1  don't  think  this  is  a  decent  place."  You  must 
not  imagine,  however,  my  dear,  that  you  Americans  are 
essentially  more  *******.  Things  of  every  day's 
occurrence  are  never  a  subject  of  remark ;  and  if  our 
first  mother  had  not  begun  these  modesties  of  the  toilette, 
the  world  might  have  gone  on,  as  in  her  time,  and  no 
one  would  have  taken  notice  of  it.  Americans  (I  pre- 
sume I  may  mention  it  to  their  credit)  are  more  easily 
reconciled  to  the  customs  of  foreign  nations  than  any 
other  people  ;  they  are  more  plastic  and  easily  fitted  to 
every  condition  of  life.  Talk  to  any  one  of  your  ac- 
quaintance,  of  a  community  of  lodging  in  her  mansion 
in  Chestnut  street,  and  she  will  have  a  fit  of  hysterics  at 
least,  and  six  months  after, you  will  find  her  climbing  up 
a  long  Parisian  staircase  as  long  as  Jacob's  ladder,  in 


104  SQUARES  OF  PHILADELPHIA. 

common  with  half  a  dozen  of  families,  and  delighted 
with  her  apartments.  An  Englishman  or  Frenchman  in 
foreign  countries  can  no  more  change  his  habits  than  the 
/Ethiop  his  skin. 

I  may  as  well  go  on  gardening  through  the  whole  of 
this  letter.  Oar  little  squares  and  squaroids  of  Philadel- 
phia have  4heir  little  advantages  ;  I  do  not  mean  to  dis- 
parage them,  but  from  want  of  extent  they  are  not  sus- 
ceptible of  any  elegant  improvement,  nor  do  they  furnish 
a  promiscuous  multitude  with  the  necessary  accommo- 
dations ;  they  lose,  therefore,  their  rank  in  society,  and 
become  unfashionable.  All  your  pretty  squarettes,  and 
I  believe  those  of  New  York  too,  could  be  put  into  the 
Tuilerics  alone.  I  have  not  yet  seen  the  English  parks, 
but  report  says  they  would  swallow  up  our  whole  city. 
And  I  have  known  even  these  little  spots  of  ours  to  be 
looked  at  with  a  suspicious  eye.  I  have  heard  men  cal- 
culate the  value  of  the  houses  and  other  things  which 
might  be  built  upon  them.  The  "  Independence  Square" 
is  worth  a  thousand  dollars  a  foot,  every  inch  of  it ; 
why  don't  the  New  Yorkquois  sell  their  Battery  ?  Oh, 
the  magnificent  wharves,  and  the  warehouses  and  hotels 
that  might  grow  upon  it !  Besides,  who  but  the  cater- 
pillars, and  they  half  starved,  venture  into  it?  With 
all  its  breezes  from  the  sea,  its  port  more  beautiful  than 
Naples,  its  fleets  laden  with  India,  Persia  and  Arabia,  a 
fashionable  woman  will  not  look  through  the  fence. 

Railroads  and  spinning-jennies,  are  to  be  sure  excel- 
lent things,  but  they  lead  us  too  much  to  measure  value 
by  its  capacity  to  supply  some  physical  necessity,  and  to 
forget  that  the  moral  condition  of  man  has  also  its  wants. 
If  riches  only  were  necessary  to  the  prosperity  of  a  na- 
tion, I  should  to-day  perhaps,  instead  of  the  Boulevards, 
be  strolling  through  the  fashionable  streets  of  Babylon. 


THE  ESTIMATE  OF  RICHES.  105 

If  a  painting,  or  a  statue,  by  perpetuating  the  memory 
of  virtuous  and  religious  men,  and  the  glorious  events 
of  history,  as  the  power  of  elevating  the  mind  and  in- 
spiring it  with  emulous  feelings,  as  Scipio  Africanus  and 
other  great  men  used  to  testify ;  if  it  has  the  power  of  im- 
proving taste,  which  is  improving  virtue,  or  affording 
pleasure,  which  is  a  part  of  our  natural  wants,  or  even 
of  employing  time  innocently,  which  might  be  otherwise 
employed  wickedly — perhaps  in  getting  drunk  at  the 
tavern  — why  then  a  statue,  or  a  painting,  is  not  only 
more  ornamental,  but  as  useful  as  a  steam-engine  or  a 
spinning-jenny.  The  Scythian  who  preferred  the  neigh- 
ing of  a  horse  to  a  fine  air  of  Timotheus,  no  doubt  was 
a  good  Scythian,  but  we  are  not,  in  our  present  relations 
with  the  world,  to  remain  long  in  a  state  of  Scythian 
simplicity,  but  it  is  worth  while  to  consider  what  is  about 
to  be  the  condition  of  a  people,  who  have  grown  luxu- 
rious, consequently  vicious,  without  the  refinements  and 
distractions  of  the  fine  arts  and  liberal  amusements. 
Utility  with  all  her  arithmetic  very  often  miscalculates. 
By  keeping  vacant  spaces  open  in  the  midst  of  a  town, 
an  equivalent  value  is  given  to  other  localities.  A  gar- 
den would  bring  many,  who  now  waste  their  time  in 
traveling  into  airy  situations,  to  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Exchange  and  other  places  of  business,  and  it  would 
drive  many  out  from  such  places  who  may  as  well  be 
anywhere  else — whose  time  at  least  is  of  less  value. 

Since  human  nature  will  have  her  diversion,  the  busi- 
ness of  the  statesman  is  to  amuse  her  innocently  ;  that  is, 
to  multiply  pleasures  which  are  cheap  and  accessible  to 
all — pleasures  which  are  healthy,  and  especially  those 
which  are  public.  Men  never  take  bad  habits  under 
the  eye  of  the  world ;  but  secret  amusements  are  seden- 
tary, unhealthy,  and  all  lead  to  disreputable  and  dan- 


106  SOCIAL  PLEASURES. 

serous  excesses.  Every  one  knows  the  social  dis- 
position of  our  race  ;  it  is  a  disposition  founded  upon 
both  our  good  and  bad  passions —upon  our  love  of  kin- 
dred, and  other  loves — upon  a  sense  of  weakness  and 
dependence  ;  and  curiosity,  vanity,  and  even  malevo- 
lence find  their  gratification  in  social  intercourse.  It  is, 
therefore,  the  duty  of  statesmen  to  study  that  our  crowds 
and  meetings  of  pleasure,  which  they  cannot  prevent, 
should  not  be  in  gin-shops  and  taverns.  Let  us  have 
gardens,  then,  and  other  public  places  where  we  may 
see  our  friends,  and  parade  our  vanities,  if  you  will,  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  the  world.— Did  you  ever  know  any 
one  who  was  not  delighted  with  a  garden  ?  What  are 
the  best  descriptions  of  the  best  poets  ?  Their  gardens. 
It  is  the  original  taste ;  it  is  transmitted  from  Paradise  ; 
and  is  almost  the  only  gratification  of  the  rich  that  does 
not  cloy  in  the  possession.  I  know  an  English  gentle- 
man here,  who  has  worn  out  all  the  pleasures  that  money 
can  buy,  at  twenty-eight;  he  is  peevish,  ill-natured,  and 
insupportable ;  we  sometimes  walk  together  into  the 
Luxembourg,  where  he  suddenly  brightens  up,  and  is 
agreeable,  and  as  happy  for  a  while  as  if  he  was  no 
lord. 

To  know  the  advantages  of  these  places  to  the  poor, 
one  must  visit  the  close  alleys,  crowded  courts,  and  over- 
peopled habitations  of  an  overgrown  city  ;  where  vices 
and  diseases  are  festering  in  secret  in  the  heart  Of  the 
community.  Why  send  missionaries  to  the  South  Seas, 
while  these  infected  districts  are  unreclaimed  ?  or  why 
talk  of  popular  religion,  and  morals,  and  education  ? — 
the  people  who  would  employ  about  half  the  care  and 
expense  in  preventing  a  disposition  to  vice,  that  they 
now  employ  in  correcting  it,  would  be  the  people  the 
most  happy  and  innocent  of  the  earth.     The  best  speci- 


ADVANTAGES  OF  GARDENS.  107 

fics,  I  can  conceive,  against  the  vagabond  population  of 
a  city,  are  gardens,  airy  streets,  and  neat  houses.  Men's 
habits  of  life  are  degraded  always  to  the  meanness  of 
their  lodgings:  if  we  build  "beggars'  nests,"  we  must 
expect  beggars  to  breed  in  them. 

Gardens  give  a  taste  for  out-door  exercises,  and 
thereby  promote  health  and  physical  development ;  and 
they  aid  in  keeping  up  the  energy  of  a  nation,  which 
city  life,  in  depriving  the  women  and  children  of  air  and 
exercise,  tends  perpetually  to  destroy.  To  the  children 
they  give  not  only  habits  of  health,  cheerfulness  and 
gracefulness,  but  an  emulation  of  neatness  and  good 
manners,  which  they  would  surely  not  acquire  under 
the  sober  stimulus  of  home  and  the  nursery ;  to  the 
nurses,  too,  they  impart  a  valuable  share  of  the  same 
benefits.  Finally,  by  gardens  and  other  embellishments 
of  a  city  we  induce  strangers  to  reside  there.  About 
fifty  thousand  English  are  now  residents  in  France,  and 
their  necessary  expense  is  rated  at  half  a  million  of 
pounds  sterling  annually.  It  is  perhaps  no  exaggeration 
to  say  that  no  property  pays  so  abundant  a  revenue  to 
a  city  as  its  gardens.  What  is  it  that  produces  to  #  city 
the  same  reputation  ?  Who  speaks  of  Madrid  without 
its  Prado,  of  London  without  its  parks?  And  why 
should  Paris  be  the  choice  residence  of  Europe,  but  for 
its  galleries,  and  public  gardens;  its  Tuileries,  its  Palais 
Royal,  its  Luxembourg,  Tivoli,  its  Champs  Elysees  and 
Bois  de  Boulogne  ? 

But  to  make  gardens  is  not  enough ;  you  must  cul- 
tivate the  public  taste  for  them.  For  this  it  is  necessary, 
that  they  be  made  ornamental,  kept  by  a  vigilant 
police,  and  that  fashionable  women  should  frequent 
them.  The  French  women  have  better  sense  of  their 
advantages  than  to  suffer  their  fine  gardens  to  become 


108  MANNERS  OF  THE  LOWER  CLASSES. 

vulgar.  They  have  to  be  sure  days  and  hours  that  are 
more  genteel  than  others;  but  they  are  to  be  seen  there 
every  day,  and  there  is  room  for  all  classes  without 
incommoding  each  other.  Even  the  poorer  classes  will 
not  frequent  a  garden  that  only  poor  devils  visit.  They 
are  flattered  to  be  seen  within  the  sphere  of  good  com- 
pany, and  are  encouraged  to  appear  there  with  becoming 
decency.  It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  the  poorer  people 
of  Paris  are  decent  in  their  manners  and  dress,  and 
graceful  beyond  the  example  of  all  other  nations.  In 
what  more  serviceable  manner  can  a  lady  of  fortune 
benefit  her  country  and  humanity,  than  by  improving 
the  manners  and  elevating  the  character  of  the  lower 
classes?  she  is  taking  care  of  her  own  interest  in  taking 
care  of  the  poor.  If.  was  the  pride  of  the  French  nobility, 
and  not  the  Jacobins,  that  set  loose  the  many-headed 
tyranny  of  the  Revolution  ;  it  was  not  Robespierre,  but 
Louis  XIV,  and  Louis  XV,  who  put  the  axe  to  the 
throat  of  their  unhappy  successor. 

Much  intercourse  of  mind  or  society  is  not  indeed  to 
be  expected  between  two  classes  of  a  different  education 
and  fortune  ;  nor  can  it  be  desired  by  either  ;  but  there 
is  nothing  in  our  code  of  morals  or  religion,  which  can 
justify  either  one  in  treating  the  other  with  unkindness  or 
incivility.  True  dignity  has  no  need  to  stand  on  the 
defensive.  A  lady  who  has  little  of  this  quality,  will 
always  be  most  afraid  to  compromise  it  by  vulgar 
associations ;  it  is  right  to  be  economical  of  what  one 
has  little.  The  contempt  of  the  rabble,  which  we  hear 
of  so  much,  where  not  sheer  ignorance,  is  three-fourths 
of  it,  parade  and  affectation.  She,  who  abroad  hangs 
the  common  world  with  so  much  scorn  upon  her  nose, 
lives  at  home,  under  the  same  roof,  almost  at  the  same 
table,  with  the  veriest  rabble  of  the  whole  community, 


MR.  burke's  opinion.  109 

her  own  servants  and  slaves.  Why  should  we  abandon 
the  Tuileries  more  than  the  Boulevards,  and  why  the 
Washington  Square  more  than  Chestnut  Street,  because 
the  common  people  walk  in  it? — I  have  written  upon 
this  subject,  more  at  length  and  more  earnestly  than 
perhaps  I  ought,  from  the  mortification,  the  almost 
indignation  I  feel  after  witnessing  the  utility  and  orna- 
ment of  gardens  in  other  countries,  at  the  immense 
defect  occasioned  by  their  stupid  omission  in  the  face  of 
European  experience,  in  the  beauty  and  comfort  of  our 
American  cities. 

But  without  more  scolding,  let  us  see  how  far  the  evil 
may  admit  of  a  remedy.  Mr.  Burke,  in  pleading  for 
the  English  parks,  which  the  utilitarians  of  the  day  pro- 
posed to  sacrifice  to  some  temporary  convenience,  or 
miserly  policy,  called  them  the  "  lungs  of  the  city," 
and  supplicated  the  government  not  to  obstruct  the  pub- 
lic health  in  one  of  its  most  vital  and  necessary  functions. 
The  question  here  is  with  our  Philadelphia,  which  never 
had  any  other  lungs  than  the  graveyards,  to  supply 
these  respiratory  organs.  I  propose  that  some  one  of 
your  old  bachelors,  as  rich  as  Girard,  shall  die,  as  soon 
as  he  can  conveniently  be  spared,  and  leave  us  a  second 
legacy  to  be  appropriated  as  follows  :  to  buy  two  lots  of 
fifty  acres  each  .upon  the  west  bank  of  the  Schuylkill; 
(they  ought  to  be  in  the  centre  of  the  city,  but  time  will 
place  them  there  ;)  the  one  for  the  parade  of  equipages, 
display  of  horsemanship  and  military  training,  and  for 
the  games  and  ceremonies  of  our  public  festivals;  the 
other  to  be  sacred  to  the  arts,  and  to  refined  and  intel- 
lectual pleasures.  I  know  of  no  benefaction  by  which 
he  could  impose  upon  his  posterity  so  sacred  a  debt  of 
gratitude ;  there  is  none,  surely,  which  should  confer 
upon  its  author  so  lasting  and  glorious  a  reputation. 

VOL.  I. — 10 


HO  THE  GLORIOUS  DAYS. 

1  have  not  a  word  of  news;  only  that  my  health  has 
improved  very  much,  to  the  credit  of  this  French  cli- 
mate ;  you  would  think  it  was  a  Spartacus  who  had 
stepped  from  his  pedestal  in  the  Tuileries.  The  French 
summer  is  delightful ;  only  think  of  reading  at  three  in 
the  morning  without  a  candle,  and  stepping  about  in 
the  daylight  till  ten  o'clock  at  night.     Adieu. 


LETTER    VI. 

The  Three  Glorious  Days — The  plump  little  widow — Marriage  of 
fifteen  young  girls— Shrines  of  the  martyrs— Louis  Philippe — 
Dukes  of  Orleans  and  Nemours— The  National  Guards— Fieschi — 
The  Infernal  Machine— Marshal  Mortierand  twelve  persons  killed 
—Dismissal  of  the  troops— The  queen  and  her  daughters— Dis- 
turbed state  of  France— The  Chamber  of  Deputies— Elements  of 
support  to  the  present  dynasty— Private  character  of  the  king — 
The  daily  journals— The  Chamber  of  Peers— Bonaparte. 

Paris,  August  1st,  1835. 
The  Parisians  have  set  apart  three  days  annually,  to 
commemorate  their  Revolution  of  1S30— the  27th,  28th 
and  29th  of  July  ;  they  call  them  the  "  Three  Glorious 
Days."  On  the  27th,  are  showers  of  sermons  all  over 
town  in  the  churches,  and  fastings  over  good  dinners  in 
the  cafes;  pious  visits,  too,  are  paid  to  the  graves  of 
those,  who  had  the  glory  of  being  killed  on  the  original 
"  three  days,"  who  are  called  "  the  martyrs,"  and  are 
buried  on  or  near  the  spot  upon  which  they  were  killed. 
The  military  parade  is  the  28th,  and  the  gala  or  jubilee 
day  is  the  29th. 


LITTLE  WIDOW.  Ill 

As  the  time  approaches,  the  town  is  big  with  visit- 
ors, and  all  is  noise  and  preparation.  Yew  trees  are 
planted  by  the  graves  of  the  "  martyrs,"  where  the  dogs 
and  other  obscene  animals,  the  rest  of  the  year,  wallow; 
and  willows  are  set  a-weeping  several  days  before. 
Theatres  are  erected,  at  the  same  time,  and  orchestras, 
and  platforms  for  the  buffoons ;  and  the  illuminations, 
which  they  keep  ready  made  from  year  to  year,  are 
brought  out  upon  the  Champs  Elysees.  Every  evening 
the  whole  of  Paris  comes  out  to  see  these  works,  and 
says :  this  is  for  the  mourning  of  the  27th,  and  this  is  for 
the  dancing  of  the  29th.  On  the  present  occasion,  a 
rain  had  turned  the  streets  into  mud  ;  but  the  French 
turn  out  on  their  fete  days,  mud  or  no  mud,  and  in 
numbers  far  exceeding  our  notions  of  arithmetic. 

The  27th  arrived,  and  every  street  and  avenue 
poured  their  waves  into  the  Boulevards  and  Champs 
Elysees,  as  so  many  rivers  their  waters  to  the  ocean. 
A  plump  little  widow  of  our  hotel  offered  to  guide  my 
inexperience  in  the  crowd,  which  I  accepted.  I  took 
her  for  her  skill  in  the  town,  and  she  me  for  my  man- 
hood, as  a  blind  person  takes  a  lame  one  for  the  use  of 
his  eyes. — I  should  have  profited  by  her  services,  but 
she  was  no  sooner  on  the  street,  than  she  ran  right  off 
in  a  hurry,  each  of  her  little  feet  doing  its  uttermost  to 
get  before  the  other,  and  kept  me  running  after  her  all 
day  long; — you  have  sometimes  seen  a  colt  running 
after  its  mother,  now  falling  behind,  and  now  catching 
up  with  her  ;  and  there  were  just  in  front  of  me,  I  verily 
believe,  five  thousand  French  women,  each  exhibiting 
a  pair  of  pretty  ankles.  A  stranger  has  a  great  many 
things  to  see  that  are  no  curiosities  to  the  natives. 
Never  take  a  native  with  you  as  a  guide,  but  always 
some  one  who  knows  no  more  than  yourself.     On  these 


112  MARRIAGE  OF  THE  MARTYRS. 

muddy  occasions,  a  French  woman  just  places  her  hand 
upon  the  right  hip,  gathering  up  her  lower  gear  on  the 
nether  side  to  the  level  of  the  knee,  and  then  whips 
along,  totally  regardless  of  that  part  of  the  world  that  is 
behind  her  ;  as  in  a  chariot  race  yon  see  the  charioteer 
bending  over  the  lash,  and  striving  after  the  one  just 
before  him,  not  caring  a  straw  for  those  he  has  passed 
by. — You  might  have  seen  my  guide  and  me,  one  while 
walking  slowly  and  solemnly  in  a  file  of  Sisters  of 
Charity,  and  then  looking  down  upon  an  awful  proces- 
sion from  a  gallery  of  the  Boulevards;  next  you  might 
have  seen  us  behind  a  bottle  of  u.  vin  ordinaire,"  at  the 
cafe  Turc;  and  then  seated  snugly  together  at  the  church 
of  St.  Roch.  Here  we  witnessed  an  interesting  cere- 
mony— a  marriage.  Fifteen  young  girls,  and  the  same 
number  of  young  men,  children  of  the  martyrs,  were 
intermarried.  They  are  apportioned  by  the  govern- 
ment; and  the  marrying  is  to  continue  till  the  whole 
stock  is  married  off  as  encouragement  to  new  "  martyrs." 
We  stayed  one  hour  here,  and  had  a  great  deal  of  inno- 
cent squeezing,  with  prayers  and  sacred  music,  and  then 
we  went  home,  and  had  capons  for  dinner. 

After  this  repast,  I  sallied  out  again,  under  the  segis 
of  my  same  guide,  who  now  led  me  through  weary  and 
intricate  passages,  and  through  thickets  of  men  and 
women,  all  getting  along  in  the  slime  of  each  other's 
tracks,  towards  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  Here,  in  the  midst 
of  an  immense  crowd,  were  the  shrines  of  the  martyrs, 
and  over  them  a  chapel  of  crape,  with  all  the  other 
mournful  emblems.  The  relatives  of  the  deceased  were 
hanging  up  chaplets,  and  reverend  men  were  saying 
prayers,  and  sprinkling  holy  water  upon  the  graves.  I 
thought,  of  the  dog  whose  master  lies  buried  here — the 
dog  so  pathetically  sung  by  Beranger. 


THE  NATIONAL  GUARDS.  113 
By  the  Louvre  gate 


Where  buried  lie  the  men  of  July, 
And  flowers  are  flung  by  the  passer-by, 
The  dog  howls  desolate. 

Dreaming  on  the  grave  he  hears  his  master's  whistle 
in  the  night. 

"II  l'entend  qui  siffle  dans  l'ombre, 
Se  leve  et  saute  apres  son  ombre 
En  gemissant." 

July  28th. 
This  day  was  given  to  the  general  parade.  More 
than  a  hundred  thousand  of  the  National  Guards  were 
arrayed  upon  the  Boulevards  ;  and  the  side  walks  were 
choked  up,  and  running  over  with  the  crowd,  which 
was  pushed  back  now  and  then,  in  great  fright  and  con- 
fusion, by  the  gens  d'armes,  and  the  tails  of  the  horses ; 
and  all  the  rest  of  Paris  looked  on  from  the  windows, 
balconies,  and  roofs  of  the  adjoining  houses— I  as  much 
noticed  as  a  leaf  of  the  Alleghany,  upon  a  verandah  of 
the  Boulevard  du  Temple.  Great  was  the  noise,  and 
long  and  patient  the  expectation.  At  length  there  was 
a  sudden  flustering  and  bustle  among  the  multitude,  and 
I  sat  up  closer  to  Madame  Dodu— it  was  the  king! 
He  was  accompanied  by  the  Duke  of  Orleans  and  the 
Duke  of  Nemours,  his  sons,  and  passed  along  the  line, 
followed  by  officers  on  horseback,  very  grim.  He  was 
received  with  not  very  ardent  acclamations.  Compared 
to  "  General  Jackson's  visit,"  it  was  a  fifth  rate  thing. 
Not  a  bird,  though  many  flew  over  us,  fell  dead.  But 
how  shall  I  describe  to  you  the  magnificence  of  the 
pomp?  since  in  our  country  there  is  no  comparison. 
How  should  we— toe,  who  can  hardly  contain  the 
Washington  Greys,  or  Blues — which  is  it  ?  with  John- 

10* 


114  EXHIBITION  OF  HUMAN  STRENGTH. 

son's  band,  and  twenty  little  boys  who  run  after  them — 
how  should  we  be  able  to  conceive  of  a  regular  infantry 
of  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  men,  with  their  ten 
thousand  drums,  and  trumpets,  and  clarions,  and  accou- 
tred in  uniform,  and  trained  to  the  last  grace  and  dex- 
terity of  discipline  ?     But,  alas  !  what  avails  to  indivi- 
dual power  this  exhibition  of  human  strength,  since  we 
see  its  haughtiest  pretensions,  every  day,  the  sport  of 
some  ignominious  chance?      Achilles,  they  say,  was 
killed  by  the  most  effeminate  roui  of  all  Troy  ;  and  his 
great  descendant,  Pyrrhus,  by  an  old  woman,  who  lived 
«au  troisilme,"  and  pitched,  the    Lord  knows  what, 
upon   his  head  through  her  window.     What  signifies 
the  strength  of  Hercules,  if  it  may  be  outwrestled  by  a 
vapor  ?— It  is  vexatious,  too,  to  see  how  much  events  are 
under  the  control  of  accident,  and  how  little  Providence 
seems  to  trouble  itself  about  them ;  and  to  think  how 
vain  a  thing  is  that  boast  of  the  world— human  wisdom! 
I  knew  a  man  who  missed  his  fortune,  and  was  ruined 
by  his  prudence  ;  and  another,  who   saved  his   house 
from  being  burnt  by  his  foolishness  !     Who  has  not 
heard  of  no  less  an  emperor  than  Bonaparte  being  saved 
by  some   vanity  of  his  wife?— the  Infernal   Machine 
blowing  up,  she  fixing  her  tournure,  or  something  in  her 
chamber ;  and  he  fretting  at  the  delay,  and  churning  his 
spite  through  his  teeth?     Why,  I  have  read  of  a  lady, 
who  preserved  her  life  by  staying  home  at  loo,  on  a 
Sunday,  instead  of  going  to  prayers,  where  the  church 
fell  in,  and  killed  the  whole  congregation.     Yet,  with  all 
this  experience,  men  still  continue  to  be  haughty  of  their 
strength,  self-sufficient  of  their  wisdom,  and  to  throw 
Providence  in  each  other's  teeth,  when  anything  hap- 
pens.— But  this  morality  is  interrupting  the  thread  of  my 
story.     As  the  king  and  his  escort  approached  the  east 


THE  INFERNAL  MACHINE.  115 

end  of  the  Boulevards,  a  deadly  machine,  prepared  by 
a  man  named  Fieschi,  (Infernal  Machine  maker  to  his 
Majesty,)  was  discharged  from  the  window  of  a  small 
wine  store,  and  made  havoc  of  the  crowd  ;  the  king, 
with  his  two  sons,  by  a  special  Providence,  standing  un- 
hurt amidst  the  slaughter;  not  a  hair  was  singed,  not  a 
garment  was  rent  !  —  He  continued  to  the  end  of  the  line, 
and  returned  over  the  scene  of  the  murder.  His  cool 
and  undaunted  countenance  gave  a  favorable  opinion  of 
his  courage  ;  and  his  danger,  accompanied  by  such  cruel 
circumstances,  has  turned  the  sympathies  of  a  great 
many  in  his  favor,  who  cared  not  a  straw  for  him  yes- 
terday. Of  the  twelve  persons  killed,  Marshal  Mortier, 
Duke  of  Treviso,  is  the  most  distinguished.  Eighteen 
persons  were  wounded.  I  was  so  near  as  to  smell  the 
gunpowder ;  which  was  quite  near  enough  for  a  foreigner. 
I  have  since  visited  the  battle-ground— what  an  atro- 
cious spectacle  ! 

The  author  of  this  murder  is  a  Corsican  who  has 
served  a  long  time  his  apprenticeship  to  villany  in  the 
French  army.  I  have  seen  his  machine  ;  it  is  composed 
of  a  series  of  gun-barrels,  and  is  a  bungling  contrivance. 
The  French,  with  all  their  experience,  don't  shine  in  this 
kind  of  manufacture.  It  would  seem  a  most  contemptible 
thing  in  the  eyes  of  a  Kentucky  rifleman.  This  fellow's 
fame,  however,  is  assured;  he  will  stand  conspicuous  in 
the  catalogue  of  the  regicide  villains.  The  others  have 
all  aimed  at  a  single  bird,  but  he  at  the  whole  flock. 
One  is  almost  tempted  to  regret  that  Ravaillac's  boots  are 
out  of  fashion.  He  attempted  to  escape  through  a  back 
window,  but  the  bursting  of  one  of  his  guns  disabled 
him.  His  head  is  fractured  and  mangled ;  they  expect, 
however,  that  by  the  care  of  his  physician  he  may  get 
well  enough  to  be  hanged. 


116  THE  ROYAL  FAMILY. 

The  last  scene,  the  dismissal  of  the  troops,  was  in  the 
Tlace  Vendome,  where  I  procured  a  convenient  view  of 
the  ceremony.— I  must  not  forget  that  in  this  place  1  lost 
my  faithful  guide,  who  had  borne  the  fatigues  and  ad- 
ventures of  the  day  with  me.  Whether  she  had  wan- 
dered from  the  way,  or  wearied  had  sat  down,  or  had 
stopped  to  garter  up  her  stockings,  is  uncertain— certain 
it  is  that  she  was  lost  here  in  the  crowd,  nee  post  oculis 
est  reddita  nostris.  On  the  west  of  the  great  column, 
the  statue  of  Bonaparte  all  the  while  peering  over  him, 
sat  the  king  on  horseback,  saluting  the  brigades  as  they 
passed  by.  His  three  sons  attended  him,  and  some  of 
his  generals  and  foreign  ambassadors ;  and  the  queen 
and  her  daughters,  and  Madame  Adelaide,  the  sister,  and 
such  like  fine  people,  were  on  a  gallery  overhead,  fanned 
by  the  national  flags.  As  the  queen  descended  there  was 
a  shout  from  the  multitude  more  animated  than  any  of 
the  whole  day.  The  king  sat  here  several  hours,  and  re- 
ceived the  affection  of  his  troops  bare-headed,  bow  fol- 
lowing bow  in  perpetual  succession,  and  each  bow  ac- 
companied by  a  smile — just  such  a  smile  as  one  is  obliged 
to  put  on,  when  one  meets  an  amiable  and  pretty  woman 
whom  one  loves,  in  a  fit  of  the  colic. 

July  29th. 
All  Paris  was  so  overwhelmed  with  grief  for  the  death 
of  General  Mortier,  and  the  "narrow  escape  of  the  king," 
that  it  blighted  entirely  the  immense  enjoyment  we  had 
expected  for  this  day— the  last  and  best  of  the  «  three 
glorious  days."  Ball  rooms  and  theatres  were  erected 
with  extraordinary  preparation  all  over  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  the  fire  works  were  designed  to  be  the  most 
brilliant  ever  exhibited  in  Europe.  Multitudes  had  come 
from  distant  countries  to  see  them.    I  say  nothing  of  the 


DEATH  OF  MARSHAL  MORTIER.  1 17 

private  losses  and  disappointments ;  of  the  booths  and 
fixtures  put  up  and  now  to  be  removed,  and  the  conse- 
quent ruin  of  individuals ;  or  of  the  sugar  plums,  can- 
dies, gingerbread  nuts,  barley  sugar,  and  all  the  rancid 
butter  of  Paris  bought  up  to  make  short  cakes— all 
broken  up  by  this  one  man ;  and  the  full  cup  of  plea- 
sure dashed  from  our  very  lips  to  the  ground.  We 
were  to  have  such  an  infinite  feast,  too,  furnished  by  the 
government.  As  for  me,  I  was  delighted  a  whole  week 
in  advance,  and  now — I  am  very  sorry. 

Under  the  Empire,  and  before,  and  long  after,  it  was 
a  common  part  of  a  great  festival  here  to  have  thrown 
to  the  people  bread  and  meat,  and  wine,  and  to  set  them 
to  scramble  for  the  possession,  as  they  do  ravens,  or 
hounds  in  a  kennel,  or  the  beasts  at  the  Menagerie.  To 
put  the  half  starved  population  up  as  an  amusement  for 
their  better  fed  neighbors ;  to  pelt  them  with  pound 
loaves  and  little  pies;  to  set  a  hurricane  of  sausages  to 
rain  over  their  heads;  and  to  see  the  hungry  clowns 
gape  with  enormous  mouths,  and  scramble  for  these  eat- 
ables ;  and  to  see  the  officers,  facetious  fellows,  employed 
to  heave  out  these  provisions,  deceive  the  expectant 
mouths,  by  feints  and  tricks,  by  throwing  sometimes  a 
loaf  of  leather,  or  of  cork,  to  leap  from  one  skull  to  an- 
other— what  infinite  amusement!  One  of  the  benefits 
of  the  last  Revolution  was  to  put  an  end  to  this  dis- 
honor of  the  French  nation.  This  is  all  I  have  to  say 
of  the  "  three  glorious  days."  I  must  trust  to-morrow 
to  furnish  me  something  for  this  blank  space.  Good- 
night. 

Rue  St.  Anne,  August  2d. 
Louis  Philippe  has  had  nothing  but  trouble  with  these 
French  people,  ever  since  he  undertook  their  govern- 


118  TURBULENCE  OF  THE  FRENCH. 

Blent.  He  has  about  the  same  enjoyment  of  his  royally, 
as  one  sea-sick  has  of  the  majesty  of  the  ocean.  He  is 
lampooned  in  the  newspapers,  caricatured  in  the  print- 
shops,  hawked  about  town,  placarded  upon  the  walls  of 
every  street,  and  gibbeted  upon  every  gateway  and 
lamp-post  of  the  city.  In  1831,  a  revolt  was  suppressed 
by  Marshal  Soult  at  Lyons  ;  another  was  got  up  in  the 
same  place  in  1834,  in  which  there  were  six  days'  fight- 
ing, six  thousand  slain,  and  eighteen  hundred  crammed 
into  the  prisons.  In  Paris  there  were  three  days'  skir- 
mishing at  the  Cloister  St.  Merri,  in  which  were  five 
hundred  arrests  in  one  night ;  and  one  hundred  and  fifty 
are  on  trial  (the  "  Proces  Monstre,"  so  much  talked  of), 
in  the  Chamber  of  Peers ;  and  now  we  have  superadd- 
ed this  affair  of  Fieschi,  with  great  expectations  for  the 
future. 

The  foreigners  here  are  full  of  ill-bodings,  and  I  hear 
nothing  but  revolutions  in  every  rustling  leaf.  We  shall 
have  our  brains  knocked  out  by  the  mob  someone  of  these 
days.  It  rains  nothing  but  Damiens  and  Ravaillacs,  and 
Jacques  Clements,  all  over  town.  Every  one  is  pro- 
phetic ;  and  I  am  going  after  the  general  example  to 
cast  the  king's  horoscope  quietly  in  my  corner,  and  cal- 
culate for  you  his  chances.  It  will  be  a  pretty  thing  if 
I  can't  eke  out  a  letter  from  so  important  an  event,  and 
the  only  one  of  any  kind  that  has  happened  since  I  have 
been  in  Paris. 

The  main  strength  of  the  government  is  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies ;  which  is  chosen  by  less  than  two  hundred 
thousand  electors.  It  represents,  then,  not  the  mass  of 
the  people,  who  are  thirty-two  millions,  but  property* 
which  has  a  natural  interest  in  peace  and  quietude  upon 
any  reasonable  terms.  Besides,  the  voters  being  divided 
into  small  electoral   colleges,  are  tangible,  and  easily 


THE  CHAMBER  OF  DEPUTIES.  119 

bribed  by  offices,  and  local  interests;  and  the  members 
of  the  chamber  also  are  allowed  to  hold  other  offices, 
and  are  very  eager  to  possess  them ;  and  if  the  king  does 
not  bind  both  these  parties  about  his  neck,  he  has  less 
policy  than  the  world  gives  him  credit  for.  He  has  with 
his  ministry,  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  of  these 
bribes  at  his  disposal.  So,  also,  has  he  a  large  majority 
of  this  chamber  in  his  favor.  Freeholders  paying  less 
than  two  hundred  francs  annual  tax  are  not  entitled  to 
a  vote.  These  are  murmuring,  and  struggling  for  an 
extension  of  suffrage  ;  but  this  they  do  not  expect  from 
a  change,  and  are  therefore  in  favor  of  the  present 
dynasty.  This  class,  from  the  great  division  of  property 
in  the  Revolution,  is  by  far  the  most  numerous.  Not 
more  than  fifteen  hundred  landed  proprietors  of  the 
kingdom  have  a  revenue  above  twelve  thousand  pounds. 
The  king  has  also  his  means  of  popularity  with  the 
poorer  classes ;  amongst  which  I  may  mention  the 
"Saving  Banks,"  established  on  the  responsibility  of  the 
government;  one  hundred  of  these  are  in  Paris  alone. 
They  not  only  encourage  the  economy,  industry,  and 
orderly  habits  of  the  lower  classes,  but  biud  them  by 
the  strongest  of  all  interests  to  the  government.  For 
the  active  support  of  this  power,  there  is  a  national 
guard  of  eight  hundred  thousand  men,  all  proprietors, 
and  having  interests  to  hazard  in  a  revolution.  There 
is  an  immense  regular  army  of  near  five  hundred  thou- 
sand men,  and  disaffection  in  this  body  would  indeed  be 
dangerous;  but  who  is  the  master  spirit,  who  can  hope, 
of  a  force  so  dispersed,  and  with  a  continual  change  of 
position  and  officers,  to  concert  a  general  plan  of  revolt? 
Finally,  the  chief  learning  and  talent  of  the  nation  are  on 
the  side  of  the  king.  In  his  councils  you  find  such  men 
as  Thiers,  Guizot,  Royer  Collard,  Villemain,  Barrante, 


120  STABILITY  OF  THE  GOVERNMENT. 

Keratry,  and  a  number  of  others  of  the  same  caste,  who 
were  the  main  instruments  in  setting  up  the  present 
government,  and  have  of  course  a  personal  interest  in  its 
support. 

The  elements  of  the  opposition  are  the  Liberals,  in 
favor  of  a  constitutional  monarchy,  with  an  extension  of 
suffrage  and  other  popular  rights  :  unwilling  to  endure 
under  the  present  rulers  what  they  resisted  under  their 
predecessors  ;  secondly,  the  Republicans,  downright  ene- 
mies of  all  sorts  of  monarchy,  and  in  favor  of  an  elective 
government,  as  that  of  the  United  States.  This  party 
is  numerous,  but  without  any  concentration  of  strength  ; 
and  finally,  the  Carlists,  the  partisans  of  the  ancient 
monarchy,  and  its  legitimate  sovereigns.  These  parties 
all  abut  against  each  other,  and  have  scarce  a  common 
interest ;  and  I  do  not  see  from  what  quarter  any  one 
of  them  can  set  up  a  rival  dangerous  to  the  existing  au- 
thority. 

The  present  king  has  industry  and  capacity  in  a  high 
degree,  and  he  exerts  both  diligently  in  improving  the 
condition  of  the  people.  He  favors  agriculture,  com- 
merce and  the  arts  of  peace ;  he  thrives  by  his  own  wit, 
as  well  as  by  the  silliness  of  his  predecessors.  New 
streets  and  houses  are  rising  up  to  bless  him  all  over 
Paris.  The  nation  was  dragooned  into  Louis  XVIII. 
and  Charles  X.  by  foreign  bayonets ;  Louis  Philippe 
is  its  own  choice.  He  took  part  also  in  the  Revolution, 
and  cannot  be  feared  as  the  partisan  of  anti-revolution- 
ary doctrines ;  the  peasants  need  not  dread  under  his 
reign  a  restitution  of  the  spoils  of  the  nobility.  He  is 
also  exemplary  in  private  life  ;  he  rises  early  and  sees 
after  his  business  ;  knocks  up  his  boys  and  packs  them 
off  to  school  with  the  other  urchins  of  the  city,  and 
thinks  there  is  no  royal  way  to  mathematics.     For  his 


PACIFIC  POLICY  OF  LOUIS  PHILIPPE.  121 

pacific  policy  alone  he  deserves  to  go  to  heaven.  It  can- 
not be  doubtful  that  war  is  one  of  the  most  aggravating 
miseries  that  afflict  our  wretched  human  nature  this  side 
the  grave.  For  the  essential  cause  of  their  revolutions 
and  national  calamities  the  French  need  not  reason  be- 
yond a  simple  statistical  view  of  their  wars  for  the  last 
five  centuries.  They  had  in  this  period  thirty-five  years 
of  civil,  and  forty  of  religious  wars,  and  of  foreign  wars 
seventy-six  on,  and  one  hundred  and  seventy-six  off  the 
French  territory  ;  and  their  great  battles  are  one  hundred 
and  eighty-four.  One  does  not  comprehend  why  the  [ 
judgments  of  heaven  should  not  fall  upon  a  nation, 
which  consumes  a  half  nearly  of  its  existence  in  carry- 
ing on  offensive  wars.  And  moreover  (a  new  virtue  in  a 
French  king),  Louis  Philippe  keeps  no  left-handed  wives 
— no  "  Belles  Feronieres,"  no  "  Gabrielle  d'Estrees,"  or 
"  Madame  Lavallieres  ;"  he  sticks  to  his  rib  of  Sicily, 
with  whom  he  has  nine  children  living  all  in  <a  fresh  and 
vigorous  health.  Why,  then,  seek  to  kill  a  king  recom- 
mendable  by  so  many  excellent  qualities  ?  Attempts  at 
regicide  are  not  always  proofs  of  disloyalty  in  a  nation. 
A  great  number  of  desperate  men,  mostly  the  refuse  of 
the  army,  have  been  turned  loose  upon  the  community, 
and  these,  in  disposing  of  their  own  worthless  lives,  seek 
that  of  the  king  in  order  to  die  gloriously  upon  the 
Place  St.  Jacques.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  majority  of 
the  nation  desire  ardently  his  safety.  France  has  tried 
alternately  the  two  extremes  of  human  government,  or 
rather  misgovernment.  She  has  rushed  from  an  unli- 
mited monarchy  to  a  crazy  democracy,  and  back  into  a 
military  despotism.  She  has  tilted  the  vessel  on  one 
side,  then  run  to  the  other,  and  at  length  is  taking  her 
station  in  the  middle.  The  general  temper  of  the  pub- 
lic mind  now  favors  a  moderate  government,  and  this 
vol.  i. — 11 


122  PRESENT  TONE  OF  FEELING. 

is  wisdom  bought  at  so  dear  a  rate  that  it  would  be  un- 
derrating the  common  sense  of  the  nation  to  suppose  it 
will  be  lightly  regarded. 

Here  is  a  copy  of  each  of  the  Paris  newspapers.  You 
will  see  something  of  the  spirit  in  which  they  are  con- 
ducted, and  one  of  the  chief  engines  by  which  the  nation 
is  governed.  There  is  certainly  no  country  in  which  a 
newspaper  has  so  great  an  influence,  and  none  in  which 
the  editor  is  so  considerable  a  man  as  in  Paris. 

The  Constitution?iel  opposes  and  defends  all  parties, 
and  is  pleased  and  displeased  with  all  systems  of  gov- 
ernment. It  courts  the  favor  of  the  "  Petite  Bourgeoisie," 
the  shopkeepers,  who  are  always  restless  and  displeased, 
but  their  interests  require  a  quiet  pursuit  of  business. 
This  is  the  most  gossiping  gazette  of  them  all,  and  gos- 
sips very  agreeably. 

The  Journal  des  Debats  represents  the  "haute  Bour- 
geoisie," the  rich  industrial  classes,  whose  great  interests 
are  order  and  security  of  property,  and  the  maintenance 
of  peace  with  foreign  countries.  The  "  Partie  Doctrin- 
aire," the  chief  supporters  of  this  paper,  are  a  kind  of 
genteel  liberals,  holding  the  balance  between  confirmed 
royalists  and  democrats,  and  ultra  liberals.  They  have 
supported  their  doctrines  with  a  great  display  of  scho- 
lastic learning,  which  has  given  them  their  appellation 
of  "  Doctrinaires."  Their  leaders  are  mostly  from  the 
schools,  as  Royer  Collard,  Guizot,  and  Villemain,  Kera- 
try  and  Barrante.  This  paper  has  a  leaning  towards 
a  vigorous  monarchy  and  the  Orleans  dynasty  ;  it  is  now 
doing  what  it  can,  in  its  moderate  way,  to  discredit  the 
republicanism  of  the  United  States. 

The  Gazette  de  France  and  the  Quotidienne  are  op- 
posed directly  to  the  present  government,  and  in  favor 
of  the  legitimate  monarchy  in  the  person  of  Henry  V. 


THE  JOURNALS.  123 

The  former  advocates  royalty  with  extended  suffrage, 
the  increase  of  power  in  the  provinces,  and  decrease  of 
the  influence  of  the  capital ;  the  latter  insists  upon  the 
re-establishment^  in  its  fullest  extent,  of  the  ancient 
monarchy. 

The  National  asserts  republicanism  outright,  on  the 
system  of  the  United  States.  It  is  conducted  with  spirit 
and  ability,  at  present,  by  M.  Carel.  In  assuming  his 
office  he  announced  himself  in  his  address  as  follows: 
"  La  responsibility  du  National ptee  en  entier  des  ce 
jour  sur  ma  seule  tele  ;  si  quelqhin  s'oublidt  en  invec- 
tive an  sujet  de  cettefeuille,  il  trouverait  a  quiparler." 
With  this  the  paper  called  the  "  Tribune,"  edited  also 
with  ability,  co-operates. 

The  Moniteur  reports  the  speeches  of  the  Chambers, 
and  official  documents,  and  is  the  ostensible  organ  of  the 
government.  The  Temps,  the  Courier,  the  Messager, 
and  Journal  du  Commerce,  all  advocate  reform  on  con- 
stitutional principles.  There  are  smaller  papers,  too, 
conducted  with  ability.  These,  with  Galignani,  and 
some  other  English  prints,  make  up  the  newsmongrie  of 
Paris.  The  price  of  Galignani,  and  the  principal  French 
papers,  is  twenty  dollars  a  year,  and  their  number  of 
regular  subscribers  about  20,000.  In  Paris  they  are 
generally  read  by  the  hour,  and  transferred  from  one 
individual  to  another,  and  disposed  of  in  the  evening  to 
the  public  establishments,  or  sent  off  to  the  country.  In 
this  manner  they  are  read  by  an  immense  number  of 
persons  daily.  The  price  of  advertising  in  the  best  pa- 
pers is  about  thirty  sous  per  line. 

The  first  men  of  the  nation  are  amongst  the  constant 
contributors  to  these  papers,  both  as  correspondents  and 
editors.  The  editorial  corps  around  each  discuss  the 
leading  topics,  and  form  a  board  to  admit  or  reject  com- 


124  THE  CHAMBER  OF  PEERS. 

munications.  These  have  their  daily  meetings  with  the 
functionaries  of  the  state,  and  their  correspondents  in 
every  foreign  country.  Argus,  with  his  hundred  eyes, 
and  Briareus  with  lhs  hundred  hands,  preside  over  the 
preparation  of  the  daily  meal.  In  our  country,  where 
the  same  man  caters,  cooks  and  does  the  honors,  it  would 
be  unfair  to  make  any  comparison  of  ability.  There  is 
one  point,  however,  in  which  there  is  no  good  reason 
why  we  should  allow  the  French  or  any  other  people 
the  superiority.  It  is  the  decency  of  language  in  which 
animated  debates  are  conducted.  To  be  eloquent,  or 
even  vituperative,  it  is  not  necessary  to  be  abusive,  or 
transgress  the  rules  of  good  breeding;  polish  neither 
dulls  the  edge  nor  enervates  the  vigor  of  the  weapon. 
The  existence  of  agencies  between  the  owners  and 
readers  of  newspapers  is  an  immense  gain  to  the  liberty 
of  the  press.  There  can  be  very  little  freedom  of  opin- 
ion, where  the  editor  and  proprietor,  as  in  the  United 
States,  stand  in  immediate  relation  with  their  patrons. 

In  speaking  of  the  powers  of  the  government,  I  have 
said  nothing  of  the  Chamber  of  Peers.  It  is  but  a  feather 
in  either  scale.  It  wants  the  hereditary  influence,  and  great 
estates  necessary  to  command  popular  respect.  The  title 
of  peer  is  for  life  only,  and  is  the  reward  of  prescribed 
services  in  all  the  chief  employments  of  the  state.  It  is 
a  cheap  dignity  which  pleases  grown  up  children,  and 
consists  of  a  ribbon  in  the  button-hole.  I  have  said 
nothing  either  of  Bonapartism,  which  has  gasped  its  last. 
The  most  violent  enmities  against  the  emperor  seem  to 
have  burnt  out.  No  danger  is  now  apprehended  either 
from  his  family  or  his  partisans,  and  the  mind  is  open  to 
a  full  sense  of  the  glory  he  has  conferred  upon  the  na- 
tion ;  and  there  is  mixed  up  with  admiration  of  his 
talents  a  sentiment  of  affection,  from  the  recollection  of 


NAPOLEON.  125 

his  great  reverses  of  fortune,  and  his  patient  sufferings. 
I  have  heard  all  parties  speak  of  him  with  great  respect 
or  praise.  It  is  a  good  policy  of  the  present  government 
to  have  taken  into  favor  all  his  plans  for  the  improve- 
ment of  the  country,  and  to  have  placed  him  in  his 
citizen's  coat,  and  cocked  hat,  stripped  of  its  military 
plumes,  upon  his  column. 

"When  I  write  politics  to  ladies,  Apollo  keeps  twitch- 
ing me  all  the  while  by  the  ear ;  but  I  thought  any  other 
subject  to-day  would  be  impertinent.— Yet  why  should 
ladies  be  ignorant  of  what  enters  so  largely  into  the 
conversation  of  society;  and  makes  so  important  a  part 
of  the  learning  of  their  children? 

I  am  meditating  a  journey  to  Rome,  and  expect  to 
set  out  next  week  with  a  gentleman  of  Kentucky.  His 
Holiness,  I  presume,  will  be  delighted  to  see  some  one 
all  the  way  from  the  Sharp  Mountain.  Direct  your 
letters  as  usual.     Very  tenderly  yours. 


LETTER    VII. 

The  Garden  of  Plants— The  omnibus— The  Museum  of  Natural 
History — American  birds — The  naturalist — Study  of  entomology 
— The  Botanic  Garden— Cabinet  of  Comparative  Anatomy— The 
menagerie— The  giraffe— Notions  of  America — The  cedar  of  Leba- 
non—Effects of  French  cookery— French  gastronomy — Goose 
liver  pie — Mode  of  procuring  the  repletion  of  the  liver. 


Paris,  August  14th,  1835. 


Here   is  an  Englishman  who   has  interrupted   me 
at  the  very  outset  of  this  letter,  and  says  I  must  dine 

11* 


126  GARDEN  OF  PLANTS. 

with  him  at  the  "  Garden  of  Plants."  He  is  a  kind 
of  public  informer,  and  does  the  honors  of  Paris  to 
us  raw  Yankees,  just  come  over.  He  has  on  his  left 
arm  a  basket  of  provisions,  a  couple  of  claret-bottles 
exhibiting  their  slender  necks  over  the  margin  of  the 
basket:  and  on  his  right,  a  lady,  his  sister,  who  is  to 
accompany  us.  She  is  exceeding  pretty,  with  a  com- 
plexion of  drifted  snow,  and  a  rosiness  of  cheeks — 
I  have  no  comparison  only  strawberries  and  cream. 
She  is  not  slow  neither,  as  English  women  generally, 
to  show  her  parts  of  speech.  "  Sir,  it  is  a  delightful  and 
romantic  little  spot  as  there  is  in  the  whole  city.  Only 
two  centuries  ago  it  was  an  open  field,  and  the  physi- 
cian of  Louis  XIII.  laid  out  on  it  a  Botanic  Garden;  it 
now  covers  eighty-four  acres,  partly  with  wood.  Wood 
is  so  delightful  at  this  hot  season  !  And  there  is  now  a 
botanic  garden  besides  immense  conservatories:  also  a 
splendid  gallery  of  anatomy,  of  botany,  and  a  mena- 
gerie ;  a  library,  too,  of  natural  history,  and  laboratories, 
and  an  amphitheatre,  in  which  there  are  annually 
thirteen  courses  of  lectures.  And  then  there  is  the 
School  of  Drawing  and  Painting,  of  Natural  History,  all 
gratuitous.  We  will  just  step  into  an  omnibus  on  the 
Boulevards,  and  for  six  sous  we  shall  be  set  down  at 
the  very  gate.  Oh,  it  is  quite  near,  only  two  steps." 
I  resign  myself  to  the  lady.  The  excursion  will  per- 
haps furnish  me,  what  I  have  great  need  of,  a. subject 
for  this  letter. — Parisian  civility  never  allows  one  place 
to  be  far  from  another.  The  French  women,  if  the 
place  should  be  at  any  considerable  distance,  cannot  for 
their  little  souls  tell  you.  It  is  always  "two  steps," 
and  under  this  temptation  of"  two  steps,"  you  are  often 
induced  into  a  walk  of  several  miles.  If  there  is  any 
one  virtue  in  Paris  more  developed  than  another,  it  is 


PARISIAN  DRIVERS.  127 

that  of  showing  strangers  the  way.  A  French  lady 
asked  me  the  way  to-day  on  the  street,  and  though 
I  did  not  know  it,  I  ran  all  about  showing  her,  out  of 
gratitude.  The  strangers  who  reside  here  soon  fall, 
by  imitation,  into  the  same  kind  of  civility.  The 
Garden  of  Plants  is  distant  from  my  lodging  about  three 
miles.     Till  to-morrow,  adieu. 

/"/^/^  /-S  August  15ih.  /§"3 
The  driver  of  a  cab  takes  his  seat  at  the  side  of  his 
customer,  and  is  therefore  very  civil,  amiable,  talkative, 
and  a  great  rogue.  The  coachman,  on  the  contrary,  is 
a  straight  up,  selfish,  and  sulky  brute,  who  has  no  com- 
plaisance for  any  one  born  of  a  woman  ;  he  is  not  even 
a  rogue,  for  being  seated  outside,  he  has  no  communi- 
cation with  the  passengers.  He  gives  you  back  your 
purse  if  you  drop  it  in  his  coach  :  he  is  the  type  of  the 
omnibus  driver.  You  have  your  choice  of  the  ".Cita- 
dine,"  which  does  not  stop  for  way  passengers,  but  at 
its  stations  at  half  a  mile,  or  the  omnibus,  which  picks 
you  up  anywhere  on  the  way.  It  sets  off  always  at 
the  minute,  not  waiting  for  a  load  ;  and  then  you  have 
a  "correspondence;"  that  is,  you  have  a  ticket  from  the 
conducteur  at  the  end  of  one  course,  which  gives  you  a 
passage  without  additional  charge  for  the  next.  You 
go  all  around  the  world  for  six  sous.  You  change  your 
omnibus  three  times  from  the  Barriere  du  Trone,  to  the 
Barriere  de  I'Etoile,  which  are  at  the  east  and  west  ex- 
tremities of  the  city. 

In  Paris  everybody  rides  in  an  omnibus.  The  Cham- 
ber of  Peers  rides  in  an  omnibus.  I  often  go  out 
in  the  one  the  king,  before  he  got  up  in  the  world,  used 
to  ride  in.  I  rode  this  morning  between  a  grisette  with 
a  bandbox,  and  a  knight  with  a  decoration.     Some  of 


128  PLEASURES  OF  AN  OMNIBUS. 

the  plcasantest  evenings  I  have  spent  here  were  in  an 
omnibus,  wedged  in  between  the  easy  embonpoint  of  a 
healthy  pair  of  Frenchwomen.  If  yon  get  into  melan- 
choly, an  omnibus  is  the  best  remedy  you  can  imagine. 
Whether  it  is  the  queer  shaking  over  the  rough  pave- 
ment, I  cannot  say,  but  you  have  always  an  irresistible 
inclination  to  laugh.  It  is  so  laughable  to  see  your  face 
bobbing  into  the  face  of  somebody  else;  it  is  so  interest- 
ing, too,  to  know  that  one's  neighbors  may  be  thinking 
about  one;  and  then  the  strange  people,  and  the  strange 
rencontres.  I  often  give  six  sous  just  for  the  comic 
effect  of  an  omnibus.  Precipitate  jolts  against  a  neigh- 
bor one  never  saw,  as  the  ponderous  vehicle  rolls  over 
the  stones,  gives  agitation  to  the  blood  and  brains,  and 
sets  one  a-thinking.  And  not  the  least  part  of  the 
amusement  is  the  getting  in,  especially  if  all  the  places 
but  the  back  seat  are  filled.  This  back  seat  is  always 
the  last  to  have  a  tenant.  It  is  a  circular  board  of  about 
six  inches  in  diameter  at  the  very  farthest  end,  and  to 
reach  it,  you  have  to  run  the  gauntlet  between  two  rows 
of  knees  almost  in  contact; — you  set  out,  the  omnibus 
setting  out  at  the  same  time,  and  you  get  along  sitting 
on  a  lady's  lap,  now  on  this  side,  and  now  on  that, 
until  you  arrive  at  your  destination ;  and  there  you  are 
set  up  on  a  kind  of  pivot  to  be  stared  at  by  seventeen 
pair  of  black  eyes,  ranged  along  the  two  sides  of  the 
omnibus.  The  only  evil  I  know  of  these  vehicles  is, 
that  the  seat  being  occupied  by  seven  fat  gentlemen,  it 
may  leave  only  six  inches  of  space  to  a  lady  of  two  feet  in 
diameter,  so  that  she  comes  out  compressed  to  such  a 
degree,  as  to  require  a  whole  day  of  the  enlarging  and 
tightening  capacities  of-  Madame  Palmyre,  to  get  her 
back  to  her  shapes:  a  worse  evil  is  that  you  often  take 


COLLECTIONS  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY.  129 

an  interest  in  a  fellow  traveler,  from  whom  you  are  in  a 
few  minutes  to  be  separated,  perhaps  forever! 

We  arrived  at  the  garden  just  time  enough  before 
our  repast  to  expatiate  lightly  upon  its  beauties.  We 
visited  first  the  Museum  of  Natural  History,  which  oc- 
cupies two  stories  of  a  building  three  hundred  feet  long. 
On  the  first  floor  are  six  rooms  of  geological  and  mine- 
ralogical  collections;  on  the  second  are  quadrupeds, 
birds,  insects,  and  all  the  family  of  the  apes— two  hun- 
dred specimens — and  groups  of  crystals,  porphyry,  na- 
tive gold  and  silver,  rough  and  cut  diamonds.  Over- 
looking this  whole  animal  creation  is  a  beautiful  statue 
of  Venus  Urania — hominum  diviimque  voluptas  !  In 
one  apartment  is  a  group  of  six  thousand  birds  in  all 
their  gay  and  glittering  plumage;  and  there  are  busts 
about  the  room  in  bronze,  of  Linnams,  Foureroy,  Petit, 
Winslow,  Tournfort  and  Daubenton.  Our  American 
birds  here  have  all  got  to  be  members  of  the  Academy. 
You  can  know  them  only  by  their  feathers.  There  would 
be  no  objection  to  call  our  noisy  and  stupid  whip-poor- 
will,  "caprimulgus  vociferus,"  but  what  do  you  think 
of  calling  our  plain  and  simple  Carolina  wren  "  troglo- 
dytus  ludovicianus  ?" 

The  insects  have  a  room  also  to  themselves,  very  snug 
and  beautiful  in  cases,  and  sparkling  like  gems  in  all 
their  variety  of  vivid  and  fantastic  colors.  We  met  here 
a  naturalist,  an  acquaintance,  who  has  lived  the  chief 
part  of  his  life  among  spiders'  legs,  and  he  explained  to 
us  the  properties  of  the  insects.  He  conversed  upon 
their  tenacity  of  life.  He  showed  us  a  mite  that  had 
lived  three  months  glazed  to  a  bit  of  glass,  and  a  beetle 
which  had  been  above  three  years  without  eating,  and 
seemed  not  particular  how  long  it  lived  ;  a  spider  also 
which  had  been  kept  one  year  on  the  same  abstemious 


130  A  NATURALIST. 

regimen,  and  yet  was  going  on  living  as  usual.  Are  you 
not  ashamed,  you  miserable  mortals,  to  be  outlived  by  a 
beetle  ?  He  showed  us  also  flies  and  spiders  sepulchred 
in  amber,  perhaps  since  the  days  of  Ninus — how  much 
better  preserved  than  the  mummied  ladies  and  gentle- 
men who  have  been  handed  down  to  us  from  the  same 
antiquity.     And 

"  Cages  for  gnats  and  chains  to  yoke  a  flea, 
Dried  butterflies,  and  tomes  of  casuistry." 

This  professor  has  been  so  long  in  the  world  of  insects 
that  he  has  taken  a  distaste  to  big  things.  I  baited  him 
with  a  whale  and  an  elephant,  but  he  would  not  bite.  I 
knew  once  a  botanist  in  America,  who  had  turned  en- 
tirely into  a  flower,  and  I  accompanied  an  entomologist 
of  this  kind  to  the  brow  of  one  of  those  cliffs,  which 
frown  over  the  floods  of  the  Susquehanna,  where  one 
could  not  read  Milton,  and  there  he  turned  up  rotten 
logs  for  grubs  and  snails  for  his  museum.  It  seems  that 
even  the  study  of  nature,  when  confined  to  its  minute 
particles,  does  not  tend  to  enlarge  or  elevate  the  mind. 
I  have  observed  that  the  practice  even  of  hunting  little 
birds,  or  fishing  for  minnows,  gives  little  thoughts  and 
appetites ;  so  to  harpoon  whales,  chase  deer,  bears, 
wolves  and  panthers,  give  a  disdain  of  what  is  trifling, 
and  raise  the  mind  to  vast  and  perilous  enterprises. 
The  study  of  entomology,  I  mean  the  exclusive  study, 
leaves,  1  presume,  to  the  artist  about  as  big  a  soul  as  the 
beetle, 

"  or  the  wood-louse 
That  folds  itself  in  itself  for  a  house." 

There  is  a  building  apart  also  for  the  "  Botanic 
Garden."  It  has  an  herbal  of  twenty-five  thousand 
species  of  plants.     You  will  see  here  a  very  pretty  col- 


BOTANIC  GARDEN.  131 

lection  of  the  mushrooms  in  wax — it  is  delightful  to  see 
the  whole  family  together.  The  Cabinet  of"  Compara- 
tive Anatomy"  has  also  separate  lodgings.  It  contains 
skeletons  of  all  animals  compared  with  man  and  with 
one  another,  about  twelve  thousand  preparations.  It  is 
a  population  of  anatomies ;  it  looks  like  nature's  labo- 
ratory, or  like  the  beginnings  of  creation,  about  the 
second  or  third  day.  Here  are  all  the  races  which 
claim  kindred  with  us,  Tartar,  Chinese,  New  Zealander, 
Negro,  Hottentot,  and  several  of  our  Indian  tribes. 
Here  is  a  lady  wrapped  in  perpetual  virginity  and 
handed  down  to  us  from  Sesostris  and  the  mummy  of 
somebody's  majesty,  that,  divested  of  its  wrappings, 
weighs  eight  pounds,  that  used  to  "  walk  about  in 
Thebes'  streets  three  thousand  years  ago."  We  de- 
scanted much  upon  this  wonderful  school  of  nature  — 
upon  the  varieties,  analogies,  and  differences  of  the 
animal  creation.  "  How  strange  that  the  Chinese  should 
wear  their  cues  on  the  top  in  that  way  !"  said  the  lady. 
"How  differently  from  us  Europeans,"  said  the  gentle- 
man. "Only  look  at  this  dear  little  fish!"  "Sister, 
don't  you  think  it  is  time  to  dine?" — And  so  we  left  the 
anatomical  preparations  for  this  more  grateful  prepara- 
tion, the  dinner.  The  great  genius  of  this  place,  the 
Baron  Cuvier,  is  defunct.  He  has  now  a  place,  for 
aught  I  know,  among  his  own  collections.  Alas,  the 
skeleton  of  a  baron  !  how  undistinguishable  is  a  Cabinet 
of  Comparative  Anatomy  ! 

In  roaming  about  we  examined  superficially  the 
garden ;  the  largest  part  of  which  is  occupied  by  the 
menagerie — This  is  not  the  reason  it  is  called  the 
"  Garden  of  Plants."  There  are  seventeen  different 
inclosures,  and  in  each  a  committee  of  the  several  races 
of  animals;  in  one  are  the  huge  and  pacific,  as  the 


132  THE  MENAGERIE. 

elephants  and  bisons,  in  another  the  domestic,  as  goats, 
sheep,  and  deer.  The  camels  are  turning  a  machine 
to  supply  water — they  who  were  bom  to  dispense  with 
this  element.  In  one  you  will  see  the  wild  and  fero- 
cious beasts  and  their  dens ;  as  bears,  tigars,  hyenas, 
and  wolves;  and  there  is  a  volery  containing  the  vul- 
tures, and  eagles,  &c.  The  monkeys  are  a  beautiful 
family,  about  two  hundred  in  number— their  expression 
such  as  becomes  sisters.  The  remainder  of  the  garden, 
also, is  divided  into  various  apartments;  one  is  a  botanic 
garden,  with  six  thousand  five  hundred  species  of  plants; 
another  is  a  collection  of  different  soils,  and  manures ; 
another  contains  a  specimen  of  every  kind  of  hedge, 
fence  or  ditch  ;  another  every  culinary  vegetable  used 
for  the  food  of  man ;  and  another  is  a  piece  of  water 
appropriated  to  aquatic  plants. 

The  whole  establishment  contains  five  hundred  and 
twenty-six  thousand  species  of  plants,  minerals  and  ani- 
mals. In  the  hot-houses  and  conservatories  are  ten 
thousand  different  species  of  vegetables.  In  the  midst 
of  the  birds  you  see  the  eagle  ;  of  the  quadrupeds,  his 
shaggy  majesty  the  king  of  the  beasts,  and  I  observed 
that  sober  cacique  the  lama  reclining  amongst  his  na- 
tive trees.  The  most  extraordinary  of  these  animals 
(though  nothing  is  extraordinary  in  Paris  for  a  long 
time)  is  the  giraffe.  On  her  arrival  the  professors  and 
high  dignitaries  of  the  state  went  out  to  meet  her  at 
many  days'  journey  from  the  capital,  and  deputations 
from  all  the  departments.  She  was  attended  by  grooms 
and  footmen,  and  "gentlemen  of  the  bed  chamber," 
from  her  native  country,  and  an  African  cow  supplied 
her  with  African  milk.  An  antelope  and  three  goats 
followed  in  an  open  barouche.  She  was  formally  in- 
vited to  visit  the  Archbishop  at  his  country  seat  near 


THE  GIRAFFE. 


133 


Lyons,  but  refused  ;  whereupon  his  eminence,  yielding 
to  her  claims  of  respect,  went  out  to  meet  her,  and  was 
upset,  his  coach  taking  fright  at  the  strange  animal,  et 
voilh  son  arislocratie  par  terre!  A  military  escort 
also  proceeded  from  Paris,  with  members  of  the  Insti- 
tute and  other  learned  bodies,  which  met  her  at  Fon- 
tainbleau,  and  her  entrance  to  the  g*arden  was  a  trium- 
phal procession.  The  curiosity  of  the  public  had  now 
risen  to  its  height  (and  there  is  no  place  where  it  can 
rise  higher  than  in  Paris).  From  ten  to  twenty  thou- 
sand persons  poured  into  this  garden  daily.  Fresh 
portraits,  by  eminent  artists,  and  bulletins  of  everything 
she  did  remarkable,  were  published  weekly.  All  the 
bonnets  and  shoes  and  gloves  and  gowns— every  species 
of  apparel  was  made  a  la  giraffe;  quadrilles  were 
danced  "  a  la  giraffe."  She  has  large  black  eyes  and 
pretty  eyelashes,  and  the  mouth  is  very  expressive. 
In  philosophy  she  is  a  Pythagorean,  and  eats  maize  and 
barley,  and  is  very  fond  of  roses;  in  religion  she  is  a  St. 
Simonian.  She  takes  an  airing  every  morning  in  the 
park,  in  fine  weather,  and  wears  flannel  next  her  skin 
in  winter. 

Our  guide  now  mounted  up,  we  following,  by  a  spiral 
walk  to  the  summit  of  a  hill,  where  there  is  a  fine  pano- 
ramic view  of  the  city.  In  the  centre  of  the  spire  is  a 
little  open  kiosque,  where  we  found  seats,  and  a  girl  en- 
tertained us  with  choice  sights  through  a  telescope,  at 
two  sous  a  look.  At  length,  after  several  little  searches 
for  a  convenient  place,  we  sat  ourselves  down  under- 
neath a  hospitable  tree,  which,  from  its  solemn  and  vene- 
rable aspect,  and  from  my  biblical  recollections  alone,  I 
knew  to  be  the  cedar  of  Lebanon.  Here  our  dinner  was 
spread  upon  the  earth.  At  the  bottom  of  a  hill  is  a 
dairy,  which  supplied  milk,  honey,  eggs,  fruit,  and  cof- 
vol.  i. — 12 


134  AMERICAN  RIOTS. 

fee,  with  the  services  of  the  dairy  maid  ;  and,  like  our 
great  ancestor,  being  seated  amidst  creation,  we  partook 
with  grateful  hearts, our  excellent  repast — the  enjoyment 
being  enhanced  by  occasional  conversation. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  pay  a  visit  to  your  country  !" 
"It  would  give  us    great    pleasure,  madam,  if  you 
would  come  over." 

"  And  I  also  ;  the  truth  is  I  have  a  hearty  contempt  for 
these  d — d  monkey  French  people;  I  can't  tell  why  I 
ever  came  amongst  them." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here,  sir?" 
"  Twenty    years — But   what    terrible    accounts   are 
coming  over  about  your  riots  !— why  you  hang  people 
up  there,  I  see,  without  a  trial  !" 

«  No  ;  we  try  them  after  they  are  hung." 
"  Oh  dear!  I  should  never  be  able  to  sleep  quiet  in 
my  bed  !" 

"The  fact  is  a  republic  won't  do." 
"  Oh  dear,  no  ;  why  cousin  writes  us  from  New  York 
that  he  is  coming  back ;  and  he  says,  if  things  go  on  so, 
Europeans  will  leave  off  emigrating;  that  will  be  bad, 
won't  it?  (Do  let  me  help  you  to  a  little  tongue.) 
But  perhaps  things  will  get  better,  America's  so  young 
yet ;  isn't  she  ?  And  then  your  Temperate  Societies  are 
doing  a  deal  of  good ;  I  read  about  them  this  morning. 
1  am  very  particular  about  temperance;  (You  have  no- 
thing in  your  glass)— and  then  what  Fanny  Kemble  says 
about  the  bugs—" 

"  Yes ;  and  the  fleas  and  mosquitoes  too ;  why  it 
seems  to  me  you  can't  have  need  of  any  other  kind  of 
^ea-bottomy." 

"  Oh  fie,  brother! — I  declare  I  like  the  Americans 
very  much  ;  they  are  so  good-natured. — Only  look  at 
that  dear  little  hen !— Have  you  any  muffled  hens  in  your 


THE  CEDAR  OF  LEBANON.  13-5 

country— any  bantams  ?"— Thus  a  whole  hour  rolled 
by,  unheeded  in  this  delightful  interchange  of  sentiment; 
and  the  universe  was  created  in  vain,  for  any  notice  we 
took  of  it,  till  the  end  of  the  dinner.  I  now  turned  up 
my  eyes  upon  the  hospitable  branches,  which  had  af- 
forded us  protection  during  this  repast. 

The  verdure  of  this  tree  is  perpetual,  and  its  branches, 
which  are  fashioned  like  the  goose-quill,  are  spread  out 
horizontally  to  cover  an  immense  space.  It  pushes  them 
from  the  trunk  gradually  upwards,  and  their  outward 
extremity  is  bent  gently  towards  the  earth,  so  that  the 
shelter  is  complete  ;  the  rain  running  down  the  trunk  or 
from  the  tip  of  these  branches.  You  would  easily  know 
it  was  intended  as  a  shelter  for  some  chosen  creatures  of 
God.  From  its  connection  with  sacred  history,  its  vene- 
rable appearance,  and  extraordinary  qualities,  it  is  the 
most  remarkable  tree  that  grows  upon  the  earth,  and 
there  is  scarce  any  relic  of  the  Holy  Land  more  sacred. 
It  is  sung  by  Isaiah  and  Solomon  ;  «  Justus  florebit  sicut 
cedrus  Liba?ii."—"  The  glory  of  Lebanon,  the  beauty 
of  Carmel,  and  the  abundance  of  Sarron."  It  does  not 
suffer  the  presence  of  any  other  tree,  nor  does  the  small- 
est blade  of  grass  presume  to  vegetate  in  its  presence. 
It  served  to  build  the  splendid  temples  of  David  and 
Solomon,  also  Diana's  Temple  at  Ephesus,  Apollo's  at 
Utica,  and  the  rich  citizens  of  Babylon  employed  it  in 
the  construction  of  their  private  dwellings.  Its  wood  is 
the  least  corruptible  substance  of  the  vegetable  world. 
In  the  temple  at  Utica,  it  has  been  found  pure  and  sound, 
after  two  thousand  years.  Its  sawdust  was  one  of  the 
ingredients  used  to  embalm  the  dead  in  Egypt,  and  an 
oil  was  extracted  from  it  for  the  preservation  of  books. 
Its  gum,  too,  is  a  specific  for  several  diseases. — Since  this 
cedar  lives  in  cold  climates,  as  all  the  cedar  breed,  and 


136  ORNAMENTAL  GARDENS. 

in  unholy  as  well  as  holy  lands,  why  does  not  some  one 
induce  it  to  come  and  live  amongst  us  ?  This  one  was 
brought  to  this  garden  by  Jussieu  in  1734. 

It  is  a  pity  such  gardens  as  this  are  not  the  growth  of 
republics.  What  an  ornament  to  a  city !  At  the  same 
time  what  a  sublime  and  pathetic  lesson  of  religious  and 
virtuous  sentiment !  What  more  can  all  the  records,  and 
commentaries,  and  polemics  of  theology  teach  us  than 
this  ? — My  next  visit  here  shall  be  alone.  Alone,  I 
could  have  fancied  myself  a  patriarch  reclining  under 
this  tree.  These  camels,  on  their  tread-mill,  I  could 
have  turned  into  caravans,  rich  with  spices  of  Araby ;  1 
could  have  seen  Laban's  flock  in  these  buffaloes  of  the 
Missouri,  and  Rachel  herself  in  the  dairy-maid.  If  you 
take  a  woman  with  you,  you  must  neglect  the  whole 
three  kingdoms  for  her,  and  she  will  awake  you  in  your 
most  agreeable  dreams ;  whilst  you  are  admiring  the 
order  and  beauty  which  reign  throughout  creation,  she 
will  stick  you  down  to  a  muffled  hen,  or  a  johnny-jump- 
up ;  and  while  you  are  seated  at  the  side  of  Jacob,  or 
of  some  winged  angel,  she  will  make  you  admire  the 
"  goldfinches,  the  chaffinches,  the  bulfinches  and  the 
greenfinches"  *  *  *  We  will  now  adjourn  from  the 
"  King's  Garden"  to  my  apartments  in  the  Rue  St. 
Anne,  where  I  must  leave  you,  you  know  how  reluc- 
tantly, till  to-morrow.     I  am  invited  out  by  Mr.  P , 

one  of  the  bravest  men  of  the  world  from  the  Missis- 
sippi, who  is  just  going  home,  and  in  the  grief  of  sepa- 
ration, has  called  his  friends  around  him  at  the  "  Hotel 
des  Princes,"  to  dine.  I  must  trust  to  the  events  of  a 
new  day  to  fill  this  remaining  sheet. 


a  traveler's  dinner.  137 

Rue  St.  Anne,  August  15th. 

I  have  not  the  courage  to  describe  our  gorgeous  ban- 
quet; I  have  an  excessive  headache.  Though  I  ate  of 
nothing  but  the  soup  and  the  fish,  and  game,  and  of  the 
roasts  and  ragouts  and  side  dishes,  and  then  the  dessert, 
drank  scarcely  anything  but  burgundy,  medoc  and  cham- 
pagne, and  some  coffee,  and  liqueur,  yet  I  feel  quite  ill 
this  morning.  If  one  should  die  of  the  stomach-ache  by 
eating  a  gooseberry  pie,  I  wonder  if  it  is  suicide? — 
However,  if  you  want  to  eat  the  best  dinners  in  the 
world,  I  recommend  you  to  the  Hotel  des  Princes,  and 
the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  P.  of  the  Mississippi. 

It  is  very  much  to  be  feared  that  in  cookery,  especially 
the  transcendent  branches,  we  shall  long  remain  inferior 
to  these  refined  French  people.  We  have  no  class  of  per- 
sons who  devote  their  whole  minds  to  the  art,  and  there 
is  nothing  to  bring  talents  out  into  exercise  and  improve- 
ment. If  any  one  does  by  force  of  nature  get  "  out  of 
the  frying  pan,"  who  is  there  to  appreciate  his  genius  ? 
He  lives  like  Bacon,  in  advance  of  his  age,  and  even 
runs  the  risk  of  dying  of  hunger  in  the  midst  of  his  own 
dishes.  Besides,  in  America,  in  cooking,  as  all  things 
else,  we  weaken  our  skill  by  expansion.  The  chief  cook 
in  this  "  Hotel  of  the  Princes,"  has  spent  a  long  life 
upon  a  single  dish,  and  by  this  speciality,  has  not  only 
ripened  his  talent  into  perfection,  but  has  brought  a 
general  reputation  to  the  house ; — as  you  have  seen 
persons,  by  practicing  a  single  virtue,  get  up  a  name  for 
all  the  rest. — The  English,  too,  are  mere  dabblers  in  this 
science.  A  French  artist,  to  prepare  and  improve  his 
palate,  takes  physic  every  morning,  whereas  an  English- 
man never  sees  the  necessity  of  taking  medicine  unless 
he  is  sick  ("que  lorsqu'  il  est  malade /")  and  his  palate 
becomes  indurated.     In  this  country  if  a  dish  miss,  or  is 

12* 


138  SCIENCE  OF  FRENCH  COOKERY. 

underdone,  do  you  believe  that  the  cook  survives  it? 
No,  he  despises  the  ignominious  boon  of  life  without 
reputation — he  dies! — The  death  of  Vatel  is  certainly- 
one  of  the  most  pathetic,  as  well  as  most  heroic  events, 
recorded  in  history.  No  epicure  can  read  it  without 
tears. — "  Voire  bonte"  he  said  to  the  prince,  who  sought 
to  console  him,  "Votre  bonte"  m'acheve  ! — je  sais  .  .  je 
sais  que  le  roti  a  manque"  a  deux  tables!" — He  then 
retired  to  his  room! — I  cannot  go  on.  Madame  Se- 
vigne  has  given  a  full  account  of  the  tragical  man's  end. 
I  do  not,  however,  approve  of  French  gastronomy  in 
everything.  The  cruelty  exercised  upon  the  goose  is 
most  barbarous.  They  recollect  that  a  goose  once 
brought  ruin  upon  their  ancestors  in  the  Capitol,  and 
they  have  no  humanity  for  geese  ever  since.  They  for- 
merly nailed  the  wretch  by  the  feet  to  a  plank,  then 
crammed  it,  and  deprived  it  of  water,  and  exposed  it  to 
a  hot  fire  {ou  elle  passait  tine  vie  assez  malheureuse), 
until  the  liver  became  nearly  as  large  as  the  goose ; 
which,  being  larded  with  truffles,  and  covered  with  a 
broad  paste,  bore  the  name  of  the  inventor  with  distinc- 
tion through  the  whole  earth.  A  "  Pate  de  foil  gras" 
used  to  be  a  monopoly  of  diplomatic  dinners,  and  it  is 
known  that  a  great  national  congress  always  assembled 
at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  on  account  of  the  number  of  geese 
resident  in  that  city ;  but  they  have  now  spread  every- 
where, from  the  Palais  Royal  to  the  very  cabins  of  the 
Alleghany.  I  saw  the  whole  village  of  Pottsville  hav- 
ing an  indigestion  of  one  that  was  brought  in  there  last 
year.  Pray  do  not  touch  them  unless  with  the  veritable 
brand  upon  the  crust;  some  make  them  of  gum  elastic. 
When  genuine  they  are  wholesome,  they  are  intelligen- 
tial ;  the  ancients  used  to  say  proverbially,  alienojecore 
sapit.     I  am  glad  to  see  that  humanity,  in  the  general 


THE  VICTIMS  OF  JULY.  139 

march  of  civilization,  has  interfered  in  behalf  of  the 
goose.  It  is  now  enclosed  immovably  in  a  box,  where 
it  is  crammed  with  maize  and  poppy  oil,  and  other  suc- 
culent food,  and  its  eyes  put  out,  so  that  it  may  give  the 
whole  of  its  powers  to  digestion — as  that  old  Greek  phi- 
losopher, who  put  out  his  eyes  to  give  the  whole  mind 
to  reflection — and  a  dropsical  repletion  of  the  liver  being 
produced  by  the  atony  of  the  absorbents,  the  liver  (the 
only  part  of  a  goose  that  is  now  of  any  account  in  Eu- 
rope) is  ready  for  the  market.  I  received  this  informa- 
tion over  a  slice  of  goose  liver  pie  yesterday,  from  our 
host,  and  1  was  anxious  to  write  it  down,  while  yet 
fresh  in  memory. — A  single  idea,  you  see,  may  be  in- 
flated, by  nearly  the  same  process  as  one  of  these  livers, 
and  made  to  cover  a  whole  page ;  I  have  room  only  to 
say,  I  am  entirely  yours. 


LETTER    VIII. 

Burial  of  the  victims— St.  Cloud— The  chateau— The  cicerone— The 
Chevalier-d'Industrie— Grave  of  Mrs.  Jordan— The  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne—Amusements on  f§ie  days— Place  Louis  XV. — The  king  at 
the  Tuileries— The  American  address— His  majesty's  reply— The 
Princess  Amelia— The  queen  and  her  daughters — The  Dukes  of 
Orleans  and  Nemours— Madame  Adelaide — Splendor  of  ancient 
courts — Manner  of  governing  the  French — William  the  Fourth — 
Exhibition  of  the  students  at  the  University. 

Paris,  August  24th,  1835. 
1  believe  I  have  not  described  to  you  the  burial  of 
the  "  victims,"  which  is  no  great  matter,  since  you  will 


140  MARSHAL  MORTIER'S  COFFIN. 

see  it  all  in  the  newspapers.  I  fell  in,  the  other  day,  with 
an  immense  crowd  passing  in  a  long  file  through  the 
door  of  a  church,  and  became  one  of  its  number.  Here 
was  a  furnace,  or  chambre  ardente,  as  they  call  it,  into 
which  a  concealed  flame  threw  a  red  and  lurid  light,  and 
exhibited  the  corpses  of  those  who  were  murdered. 
From  this  place  they  were  brought  out,  and  carried 
about  the  streets,  in  the  most  gorgeous  of  all  funeral  pro- 
cessions. It  would  have  done  credit  to  the  best  times  of 
Babylon.  No  people  of  the  world  can  get  up  a  thea- 
trical display  of  this  kind  so  prettily  as  the  French;  and 
on  this  occasion  they  outdid  themselves.  The  day  was 
appointed,  four  days  ahead,  when  the  general  grief  was 
to  explode,  and  it  did  explode  exactly  as  the  Prefecture 
of  Police  had  predicted. — We  all  ran  about  the  streets 
the  whole  day,  and  cried,  "  long  live"  Louis  Philippe, 
and  General  Mortier,  who  was  killed  ! 

The  duke's  coffin  was  carried  in  front,  by  six  horses, 
in  all  the  solemnity  of  crape.  The  spokes  of  the  wheels 
were  silvered,  and  the  rims  glittered  with  a  more  pre- 
cious metal.  Over  head  were  flags,  I  presume,  taken 
from  the  enemy,  and  groups  of  emblematical  figures. 
France  with  her  tresses  loose  and  streaming,  and  the 
departments  all  dressed  in  black  frocks,  mopping  their 
eyes,  and  pouring  out  their  little  souls  over  the  coffin. 
The  others  of  the  train,  seven  or  eight,  followed  at  long 
intervals,  arrayed  in  nearly  the  same  style,  more  or  less 
elegant,  according  to  the  dignity  of  the  corpses  carried 
in  them.  In  the  midst  was  a  chariot,  as  rich  as  the 
others  in  decoration,  and  forming  a  splendid  contrast,  of 
dazzling  white,  and  young  girls  in  raiment  whiter  than 
the  snow,  following  in  a  long  train,  chanted  hymns  to 
their  departed  sister. — This  procession  had  everything 
but  funeral  solemnity.     I  had  expected  muffled  drums 


BEAUTY  OF  ST.  CLOUD.  141 

and  dead  marches  ;  and  all,  but  the  bell-clappers,  silent 
over  the  face  of  Paris.  The  music,  on  the  contrary,  was 
thrilling  and  military;  and  all  the  emblems,  but  the 
crape  and  coffin,  would  have  served  as  well  for  an 
elegant  jubilee.  The  last  scene— the  entrance  into  the 
Chapel  of  the  Invalids,  and  the  ceremony  there— was 
the  most  solemn.  The  church  was  hung  in  its  blackest 
mourning  weeds,  and  priests,  in  a  long  row,  said  masses 
upon  the  dead,  holding  black  torches  in  their  hands. 
The  floor  opened,  and  the  deceased  were  laid  by  the 
side  of  each  other  in  a  vault,  which  closed  its  marble 
jaws.  All  Paris  spent  the  day  in  the  procession,  and 
in  the  evening  went  to  the  Opera  Comique.  But  I  don't 
like  funerals :  I  will  write  of  something  else. 

I  will  tell  you  of  my  first  excursion  to  the  country. 
Every  one  who  loves  eating  and  drinking  and  dancing, 
went  out  yesterday  to  the  fete  at  St.  Cloud— c'est  sijolie 
une fete  de  village!  and  1  went  along.  The  situation 
of  this  village  is  very  picturesque  on  the  banks  of  the 
Seine,  and  commands  a  delightful  prospect  of  the  city 
and  environs  of  Paris.  If  St.  Cloud  would  not  take  it 
ill,  I  should  like  to  stay  here  a  month.— There  are  the 
sweetest  little  hills,  and  glades,  and  cascades  imaginable; 
not,  indeed,  beautiful  and  poetical  as  your  wild  and 
native  scenery  of  Pottsville — one  does  not  wander  by 
the  mountain  torrent,  or  by  the  clear  stream,  such  as 
gushes  from  the  flanks  of  your  craggy  hills ;  nor  by  the 
"Tumbling  Run"  that  winds  its  course  through  the 
intricate  valley  till  it  mingles,  and  murmurs  no  more,  in 
the  wizard  Schuylkill;  nor  does  one  stray  through 
forests  of  fragrant  honeysuckles,  or  gather  the  wild 
flower  from  the  solitary  rock  ;  but  it  is  sweet,  also,  to 
see  the  little  fishes  cut  with  their  golden  oars  the  silvery 
lake,  and  to  walk  upon  the  fresh-mown  turf,  and  scent 


^ 


142  \-<^S-  FAVORITE  RETREAT  OF  BONAPARTE. 

the  edor  from  the  neighboring  hedge;  the  rose  and  / 
woodbine,  too,  are  sweet,  when  nourished  by  the  ag*i- .  * 
cultural  ingenuity  and  care  of  man.  All  that  kind  of 
beauty,  which  the  fertile  earth  can  receive  from  the 
hand  of  a  skillful  cultivator,  is  possessed  by  these  little 
hills  of  St.  Cloud,  in  its  most  adorable  perfection.  I 
have  listened  here  to  the  music  of  the  bees,  and  in  the 
calm  and  balmy  evening,  to  the  last  serenade  of  the 
thrush  retiring  to  its  rest.  One  forgets,  in  hearing  this 
language  of  his  native  country,  that  he  is  wandering  in 
a  foreign  land !  St.  Cloud  has,  also,  an  interest  in  its 
historical  recollections.  It  was  burnt  once  by  the 
English ;  it  was  besieged  and  taken  by  Conde,  in  the 
religious  wars ;  and  Henry  III.  was  assassinated  here 
by  Jacques  Clement.  It  was  the  favorite  of  Bonaparte. 
If  he  resided  anywhere,  (for  ambition  has  no  home,)  it 
was  at  St.  Cloud.  It  was  here  he  put  himself  at  the 
head  of  the  government,  overthrowing  the  Directory,  in 
1799. — The  neighborhood  is  adorned  with  magnificent 
villas.  The  French  do  not,  like  the  English,  plunge  from 
the  bustle  and  animation  of  their  city  into  a  lifeless 
solitude;  or  carry  a  multitude  of  guests  with  them  to 
their  country  seats,  to  eat  them  out  of  house  and  home, 
as  an  antidote  to  the  vapors.  They  select  the  vicinity 
of  some  frequented  spot,  as  St.  Cloud  or  Versailles,  and 
secure  the  pleasures  of  society  to  their  summer  resi- 
dences. I  believe  it  is  well  for  one,  who  wishes  to 
make  the  best  of  life  in  all  its  circumstances,  to  study  the 
French.  I  am  glad  that  in  imitating  England  in  many 
things,  (as  we  ought,)  we  have  not  copied  her  absurd 
whim  of  living  in  the  country  at  Christmas. 

The  chateau  at  St.  Cloud  is  an  irregular  building ;  it  has 
on  its  principal  front  four  Corinthian  columns,  and  Jus- 
tice and  Prudence  and  a  naked  Truth,  and  some  other 


THE  CHATEAU.  143 

hieroglyphic  ladies  are  looking  down  from  the  balus- 
trade. I  had  myself  conducted  through  its  apartments  : 
the  salle  de  compagnie — d' audience — de  toilet,  and  the 
queen's  bed-chamber.  Only  to  think,  here  she  used  to 
sleep,  the  little  queeny  !  They  have  made  her  bed  just 
two  feet  high,  lest  she  might  fall  out  and  break  her  ma- 
jesty's neck  in  the  night.  The  king's  apartments  are  in 
a  similar  range.  The  salon  de  Diane  is  fine  with  the 
tapestry  of  the  gobelins,  and  the  grand  salon  with 
Sevres'  China  vases.  Its  crimson  velvet  hangings  cost 
twenty  thousand  dollars,  and  its  four  candelabra  six 
thousand.  The  galerie  d'Jipollon  has  paintings  by  the 
best  masters.  I  admired  all  these  things  excessively. 
Every  one  knows  the  genealogy  of  admiration.  They 
certainly  exceed  very  far  our  usual  republican  notions 
of  magnificence. — Thou  most  unclassical  Blucher  !  Why 
the  fellow  slept  here,  booted  and  spurred,  in  the  Empe- 
ror's bed,  and  kenneled  his  hounds  upon  the  sofa — 
both  with  an  equal  sense,  I  presume,  of  the  sumptuous- 
ness  of  their  lodgings.  If,  at  least,  he  had  put  his  hounds 
into  Diana's  saloon,  the  stupid  Goth,  he  might  have  had 
some  credit  for  his  wit— he  can  have  none  for  his  bru- 
tality. 

I  was  puzzled  about  the  reward  to  be  given  to  our 
cicerone.  To  have  all  this  service  for  nothing  was  un- 
reasonable ;  and  how  to  offer  money  to  a  man  with  a 
cocked  hat,  and  black  velvet  breeches— I  was  in  a  situa- 
tion exactly  the  reverse  of  Alexander  the  Great  towards 
his  schoolmaster.  What  was  enough  for  such  a  respect- 
able gentleman  to  receive,  was  foo  much  for  me  to  give. 
I  consulted  a  French  lady;  for  French  ladies  know 
everything,  and  they  don't  knock  you  down  when  you 
ask  them  a  question. — She  told  me  a  franc  would  be  as 
much  as  he  would  expect.     Think  of  giving  a  franc  for 


144  THE  CHEVALIER  D'iNDUSTRIE. 

an  hour's  service,  to  as  good  a  looking  gentleman  as 
General  Washington  ! 

Coming  out  from  the  castle,  I  wandered  through  the 
park,  which  contains  some  hundred  acres,  diversified 
with  hills  and  valleys,  and  presenting  from  an  eminence, 
a  delightful  view  of  the  surrounding  country,  including 
Paris.  On  this  spot  is  a  "  Lantern  of  Demosthenes," 
copied  from  the  monument  of  that  name  at  Athens. 
A  great  part  of  the  park  is  a  public  promenade,  and  is 
chiefly  remarkable  for  its  jets  d'eaux,  which,  on  a  fete 
day,  throw  up  the  water  sportively  in  the  air,  and  for  its 
numerous  cascades,  one  of  which  is  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  feet  above  the  level  of  the  basin.  I  next 
went  with  a  guide  into  the  "  Petit  Pare,"  made  for 
Marie  Antoinette.  She  bought  this  chateau  (one  of  her 
sins)  just  before  the  Revolution.  This  park  is  beautiful 
with  bowers,  groves,  pieces  of  water,  statuary,  and  every 
imaginable  embellishment.  In  wandering  about  here, 
1  got  acquainted  with  a  nobleman.  He  is  of  that  order 
of  knighthood,  which  the  French  call  "Chevaliers  dTn- 
dustrie." — "This, sir, I  think, is  by  Pigale,and  this  Cupid 
by  Depautre.  Look  especially  at  this  Venus  by  Cous- 
tan." — "Point  du  tout,  Monsieur,  I  make  it  a  duty, as 
you  are  a  stranger."  He  liked  the  Americans  exces- 
sively.— "  To  be  the  countryman  of  Franklin,  e'est  un 
litre!"  I  seldom  ever  met  a  more  polite  and  accom- 
plished gentleman,  and  fashionable.  I  had  a  purse  con- 
taining in  silver  twenty  francs,  which,  being  incommo- 
dious to  a  waistcoat,  I  had  put  into  an  outside  coat 
pocket. — Late  in  the  evening,  you  might  have  seen  me 
returning  homewards  on  foot,  (the  distance  two  leagues,) 
not  having  wherewith  to  hire  a  coach,  and  no  money  at 
my  lodgings.  If  the  devil  had  not  been  invented,  I  should 
have  found  him  out  on  this  occasion. 


MRS.  JORDAN.  145 

The  verdure  of  this  country  is  more  fresh  than  ours 
under  the  dog  star.  There  is  a  hazy  atmosphere,  which 
intercepts  the  rays  of  the  sun  and  mitigates  the  heat.  I 
don't  say  a  word  here  in  favor  of  our  summer  climate 
from  conscientious  scruples.  Indeed  1  have  gained  such 
a  victory  over  my  patriotism  that  I  never  find  fault  with 
these  foreigners  for  having  anything  better  than  we  have 
it  ourselves;  nor  do  I  take  any  merit  to  myself  because 
the  Mississippi  is  two  miles  wide,  or  because  the  Nia- 
gara falls  with  such  sublimity  into  Lake  Ontario. 

I  was  introduced  by  a  mere  accident  to  a  Scotch  lady 
of  this  village,  who  prevailed  on  my  modesty  to  dine 
with  her.  She  is  a  lady  of  experience  and  great  affa- 
bility who  has  resided  here  and  in  Paris  eleven  years. 
She  is  on  a  furlough  from  her  husband,  an  Englishman 
She  showed  me  the  cathedral,  the  cemetery,  and  the 
grave  of  one,  who  won  princes  by  her  smile,  Mrs.  Jor- 
dan. She  asks  a  repetition  of  the  visit,  and  is  too  ami- 
able and  accomplished  to  be  refused.  She  is  at  least 
forty-five ;  in  the  "  ambush  of  her  younger  days"  the 
invitation  would  not  have  been  safe  for  the  visitor. 

On  my  return  I  walked  through  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne, where  you  and  romantic  Mary  have  so  often  as- 
sisted at  a  duel.  It  was  in  the  glimmerings  of  the  twi- 
light, and  now  and  then  looking  through  a  vista  of  the 
tangled  forest,  I  could  see  distinctly  a  ghost  pulling  a 
trigger  at  another  ghost,  or  pushing  carte  and  tierce  at 
his  ribs.  This  forest  flanks  the  west  side  of  the  Fau- 
bourgs of  Paris,  and  contains  seventeen  hundred  acres 
of  ground  ;  in  some  parts  an  open  wood,  in  others  an 
intricate  and  impenetrable  thicket.  It  is  the  fashionable 
drive  for  those  who  have  coaches  in  the  morning,  and 
a  solitary  enough  walk  for  one  who  has  no  coach  of  an 
evening.  Young  girls  always  find  saddled  at  the  east 
vol.  i. — 13 


146  GIRLS  LEARNING  TO  RIDE. 

end  a  number  of  donkeys,  upon  which  they  take  a 
wholesome  exercise,  and  acquire  the  elements  of  equita- 
tion at  three  sous  a  ride.  Some  who  have  "  witched 
the  world  with  noble  horsemanship,"  have  begun  upon 
these  little  asses. 

I  had  the  light  only  of  the  gentle  moonbeam  to  direct 
my  footsteps  through  the  latter  part  of  this  forest ;  and 
I  walked  speedily,  recollecting  I  should  not  be  the  first 
man  who  was  murdered  here,  by  a  great  many.  I 
feared  to  meet  some  rogue  ignorant  that  I  was  robbed 
already,  so  1  went  whistling  along,  (for  men  who  have 
money  don't  whistle,)  till  I  arrived  at  the  Champs  Ely- 
sees — its  lamps  sparkling  like  the  starry  firmament.  An 
hour  sooner  I  should  have  found  it  alive  with  all  sorts  of 
equipages ;  with  all  the  landaus,  tilburys,  and  bogueys, 
and  other  private  vehicles,  and  footmen  glittering  in 
golden  coats,  with  feathers  waving  on  their  empty  heads, 
whilst  the  edges  of  the  road  would  have  been  fringed 
with  ten  thousand  pedestrians  on  their  evening  walks. 
Now  there  were  a  few  only  in  attendance  upon  Fran- 
coni's,  or  the  concert.  In  the  former  of  these  places  they 
exhibit  melo-dramas,  and  equestrian  feats,  in  which  the 
riding  ladies  only  outstrip  what  we  see  in  our  own  coun- 
try. In  the  latter  there  is  a  band  of  near  a  hundred 
musicians,  who  charm  all  the  world  at  twenty  sous  a 
piece,  playing  the  fashionable  airs  from  six  till  nine  every 
evening.  Innumerable  cafes  around  pour  out  the  fra- 
grant nectar  to  their  guests. 

For  an  image  of  this  place  you  need  not  read  Virgil's 
sixth  book,  or  refer  to  any  of  your  classical  associations. 
Fancy  only,  without  a  single  inequality,  a  horizontal 
plain  of  an  hundred  or  more  acres,  or  rather  a  barren 
moor,  a  ball-alley,  a  baked  and  turfless  common,  or  any 
most  trodden  spot  upon  the  earth,  and  that  is  the  French 


THE  CHAMPS  ELYSEES.  147 

Elysium.  Not  a  blade  of  grass,  or  shrub  or  flower 
dares  grow  upon  its  surface.  The  trees  are  straining 
and  trying  to  grow,  but  cannot.  Yet  it  is  precisely  to  this 
barren  field  that  all  the  world  comes,  especially  on  fete 
days,  to  be  perfectly  delighted.  It  is  surrounded  by  the 
city  and  has  an  air  of  country  in  town.  It  is  a  kind  of 
republican  turn-out,  where  one  may  go  as  one  pleases, 
without  toilet  or  any  troublesome  respect  to  etiquette. 
It  is  a  refuge  always  at  hand  from  an  uncomfortable 
home— from  a  scold  or  a  creditor;  it  cures  husbands  of 
their  wives,  old  bachelors  of  the  vapors,  and  sometimes 
lovers  of  their  sweethearts.  On  Sundays  and  holidays 
you  will  find  here,  of  foolishness,  all  that  you  have  ever 
seen,  all  that  you  have  ever  fancied,  and  if  there  is  any- 
thing of  this  kind  you  have  never  seen  or  fancied,  it  is 
here.  Besides  the  concert  and  the  circus,  and  fresco 
dances,  here  are  all  the  jugglers  and  their  tricks,  mounte- 
banks and  their  medicines,  clowns  and  their  fooleries, 
all  the  family  of  the  Punches,  and  all  the  apes  in  regi- 
mentals; not  counting  the  voltigeurs  without  legs,  and 
the  blind  girls,  who  see  to  walk  over  eggs  without 
breaking  them.  You  may  have  a  stage  if  you  love  to 
play  harlequin,  or  a  greasy  pole  if  you  wish  to  climb  for 
a  prize  at  the  top  of  it.  You  may  sit  down  on  a  swing 
like  a  water-wheel,  which  will  toss  you  fifty  feet  in  the 
air,  where  you  may  run  from  yourself  and  after  yourself 
by  the  hour ;  or  on  another  which  will  whirl  you  about 
horizontally  on  hobby  horses  till  you  become  invisible. 
If  thirsty  you  may  have  an  ice  cream,  if  studious  a 
chair  and  a  newspaper,  and  if  nervous  a  shock  of  elec- 
tricity worth  two  sous.  Moreover,  you  can  buy  cakes 
reeking  hot  that  were  baked  a  week  ago,  and  a  stick  of 
barley  sugar,  only  a  little  sucked  by  the  woman's  baby, 
at  half  its  value. 


148  ADDRESS  TO  THE  KING. 

On  the  outskirts  towards  night  yoa  may  find  also  an 
opportunity  of  exercising  your  charity  and  other  bene- 
volent affections.  One  poor  woman  is  getting  a  living 
here  by  the  dropsy,  and  another  by  nine  orphan  children 
and  such  like  advantages;  one  has  lost  the  use  of  her 
limbs  and  is  running  about  with  a  certificate;  and  there 
is  one,  who  has  been  eight  months  gone  since  eleven 
years.  In  coming  out  by  the  side  next  the  city  you  are 
at  once  upon  the  Place  Louis  XV.,  where  you  will  see 
on  their  pedestals  two  superb  and  restive  coursers,  which 
tread  on  air  held  in  with  difficulty  by  their  two  marble 
grooms.  We  are  again  upon  St.  Anne's  street,  and 
under  the  protection  of  her  sainted  wings  I  repose  till 
to-morrow,  bidding  you  an  affectionate  good  night. 

August  25th. 

I  called  a  few  days  ago  upon  the  king.  We  Yankees 
went  to  congratulate  his  majesty  for  not  being  killed  on 
the  2Sth.  We  were  overwhelmed  with  sympathy — and 
the  staircase  which  leads  up  to  the  royal  apartments,  is 
very  beautiful,  and  has  two  Ionic  columns  just  on  the 
summit.  You  first  enter  through  a  room  of  white  and 
plain  ground,  then  through  a  second  hung  round  with 
awful  field  marshals,  and  then  you  go  through  a  room 
very  large,  and  splendid  with  lustres,  and  other  elegant 
furniture,  which  conducts  into  a  fourth  with  a  throne  and 
velvet  canopy.  The  king  was  very  grateful,  at  least  he 
made  a  great  many  bows,  and  we  too  were  very  grate- 
ful to  Providence  for  more  than  a  couple  of  hours. — 
There  was  the  queen,  and  the  two  little  princesses — but 
I  will  write  this  so  that  by  embroidering  it  a  little  you 
may  put  it  in  the  newspapers. 

The  chamber  of  Peers  and  Deputies  and  other  func- 
tionaries of  the  State  were  pouring  in  to  place,  at  the 


THE  AMERICAN  CONSUL.  149 

foot  of  the  throne,  the  expression  of  their  loyalty.  This 
killing  of  the  king  has  turned  out  very  much  to  his  ad- 
vantage. There  was  nothing  anywhere  but  laudatory 
speeches,  and  protestations  of  affection— foreigners  from 
all  the  countries  of  Europe  uniting  in  sympathy  with 
the  natives.  So  we  got  ashamed  of  ourselves,  we  Ame- 
ricans, and  held  a  meeting  in  the  Rue  Rivoli,  where  we 
got  up  a  procession,  too,  and  waited  upon  his  majesty  for 
the  purpose  above  stated,  and  were  received  into  the 
presence — the  royal  family  being  ranged  around  the 
room  to  get  a  sight  of  us.  Modesty  forbids  me  to  speak 
of  the  very  eloquent  manner  in  which  we  pronounced 
our  address;  to  which  the  king  made  a  very  appropriate 
reply.  "  Gentlemen,  you  can  better  guess,"  said  he, "  than 
I  can  express  to  you  the  gratification,"  &c— I  missed 
all  the  rest  by  looking  at  the  Princess  Caroline's  most 
beautiful  of  all  faces,  except  the  conclusion,  which  was 
as  follows:  "  And  I  am  happy  to  embrace  this  occasion 
of  expressing  to  you  ail,  and  through  you,  to  your  coun- 
trymen, the  deep  gratitude  I  have  ever  felt  for  the  kind- 
ness and  hospitality  I  experienced  in  America  during  my 
misfortunes."  The  king  spoke  in  English,  and  with  an 
affectionate  and  animated  expression,  and  we  were 
pleased_«//  to  pieces.  So  was  Louis  Philippe,  and  so 
was  Marie  Jlmelie,  princess  of  the  two  Sicilies,  his  wife  ; 
and  so  was  Marie-Ckristine-Caroline-JIdelaidc-Fran- 
goise-Leopoldi?ie,a.nd  Marie-Clemenline-Caroline-Leo- 
poldine-ClolildCi  her  two  daughters,  and  the  rest  of  the 
family. 

A  note  from  the  king's  aid-de-camp  required  the 
presence  of  our  consul  at  the  head  of  the  deputation, 
which  our  consul  refused.  He  did  not  choose,  he  said, 
to  see  the  Republic  make  a  fool  of  herself,  running 
about  town,  and  tossing  up  her  cap  because  the  king 

13* 


150  DESCRIPTION  OF  LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 

was  not  killed,  and  he  would  not  go.  "Then,"  said  the 
king  (a  demur  being  made  by  his  officers), "  I  will  re- 
ceive the  Americans,  as  they  received  me,  without  fuss 
or  ceremony."  So  we  got  in  without  any  head,  but  not 
without  a  long  attendance  in  the  ante-chamber,  very 
inconvenient  to  our  legs.  How  we  strolled  about  during 
this  time,  looking  over  the  nick-nacks,  and  how  some  of 
us  took  out  our  handkerchiefs,  and  knocked  the  dust  off 
our  boots  in  the  salle  dcs  marechcntx,  and  how  we  re- 
clined upon  the  royal  cushions,  and  set  one  leg  to  ride 
impatiently  on  the  other,  I  leave  to  be  described  by 
Major  Downing,  who  was  one  of  our  party.  I  will  bring 
up  the  rear  of  this  paragraph  with  an  anecdote,  which 
will  make  you  laugh.  One  of  our  deputation  had 
brought  along  a  chubby  little  son  of  his,  about  sixteen. 
He  returned,  (for  he  had  gone  ahead  to  explore,)  and 
said  in  a  soft  voice,  "Tommy,  you  can  go  in  to  the 
throne,  but  don't  go  too  near."  And  then  Tommy  set 
off  with  velvet  steps,  and  approached,  as  you  have  seen 
timid  old  ladies  to  a  blunderbuss; — he  feared  it  might 
go  off. 

The  king  is  a  bluff  old  man  with  more  firmness  of 
character,  sense  and  activity,  than  is  indicated  by  his 
plump  and  rubicund  features.  The  queen  has  a  very 
unexceptionable  face :  her  features  are  prominent,  and 
have  a  sensible,  benevolent  expression — a  face  not  of 
the  French  cut,  but  such  as  you  often  meet  amongst  the 
best  New  England  faces.  Any  gentleman  would  like 
to  have  such  a  woman  for  his  mother.  The  eldest 
daughter  is  married  to  the  King  of  Belgium  ;  the  second 
and  third  are  grown  up  to  manhood,  but  not  yet  mar- 
ried. They  would  be  thought  pretty  girls  even  by  your 
village  beaux,  and  with  you  ladies,  except  two  or  three, 
(how  many  are  you?)  they  would  be  "stuck  up  things, 
no  prettier  than  their  neighbors."     The  Duke  of  Orleans 


ANCIENT  REGAL  SPLENDOR.  151 

is  a  handsome  young  man,  and  so  spare  and  delicate  as 
almost  to  call  into  question  his  mother's  reputation. 
He  assumes  more  dignity  of  manner  than  is  natural  to  a 
Frenchman  at  his  age  ;  he  is  not  awkward,  but  a  little 
stiff;  his  smile  seems  compulsory  and  more  akin  to  the 
lips  than  to  the  heart.  Anybody  else  would  have 
laughed  out  on  this  occasion.  He  has  been  with  the 
army  in  Africa,  and  has  returned  moderately  covered, 
with  laurels.  The  Duke  of  Nemours  is  just  struggling 
into  manhood,  and  is  shaving  to  get  a  beard  as  assidu- 
ously as  his  father  to  get  rid  of  it.  He  also  has  fought 
valiantly  somewhere — I  believe  in  Holland.  Among 
the  ladies  there  is  one  who  pleases  me  exceedingly;  it 
is  Madame  Adelaide,  the  king's  sister.  She  has  little 
txauty,  but  a  most  affable  and  happy  expression  of 
countenance.  She  was  a  pupil  of  Madame  Genlis,  who 
used  to  call  her  "  celte  belle  el  bonne  Princesses  She 
was  married  secretly  to  General  Athelin,  her  brother's 
secretary,  during  their  residence  in  England.  She 
revealed  this  marriage,  with  great  fear  of  his  displeasure, 
to  her  brother,  after  his  accession  to  the  throne,  throwing 
herself  on  her  knees. — After  some  pause  he  said,  em- 
bracing her  tenderly:  "Domestic  happiness  is  the 
main  thing  after  all;  and  now  that  he  is  the  king's 
brother-in-law  we  must  make  him  a  duke."  Madame 
Adelaide  is  in  the  Indian  summer  of  her  charms. 

One  who  knows  royalty  only  from  the  old  books, 
necessarily  looks  about  for  that  motley  gentleman  the 
king's  fool.  The  city  of  Troyes  used  to  have  a  mono- 
poly of  supplying  this  article,  but  the  other  towns,  I  have 
heard,  grew  jealous  of  the  privilege,  and  they  have  them 
now  from  all  parts  of  the  kingdom.  Seriously  the 
splendor  of  ancient  courts  has  faded  away  wonderfully 
in  every  respect.     When  Sully  went  to  Eng'and,  says 


152  POLICY  OF  LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 

the  history,  he  was  attended  by  two  hundred  gentlemen, 
and  three  hundred  guns  saluted  him  at  the  Tower. 
The  pomp  and  luxury  of  drawing  rooms,  and  levees, 
were  then  most  gorgeous.  The  eye  was  dazzled  with 
the  glittering  display,  nothing  but  yeomen  of  the  guards 
with  halberds,  and  wearing  hats  of  rich  velvet,  plumed 
like  the  peacock,  with  wreaths  and  rosettes  in  their 
shoes;  and  functionaries  of  the  law,  iu  black  gowns 
and  full  wigs,  and  bishops,  and  other  church  dignitaries, 
in  aprons  of  black  silk;  and  there  were  knights  of  the 
garter,  the  lord  steward,  the  lord  chancellor,  and  the 
Lord  knows  who.  And  the  same  grandeur  and  bril- 
liancy in  the  French  courts — chambellans,  and  ecuyers, 
and  aumoniers,  all  the  way  down  to  the  chauf-cire,  and 
keeper  of  the  royal  hounds ;  and  one  swam  in  a  sea  of 
gems  and  plumes,  and  sweet  and  honeyed  ladies.  Re- 
publicanism has  set  her  irreverent  foot  upon  all  this 
regal  splendor.  I  wish  I  had  come  over  a  hundred 
years  ago.  The  king's  salary  before  the  Revolution, 
though  provisions  were  at  half  their  present  rate,  was 
thirty  millions,  that  of  Charles  X.  was  twenty-five  ;  and 
the  present  king's  is  only  twelve  millions,  with  one  mil- 
lion to  the  Duke  of  Orleans. 

/  and  Louis  Philippe  do  not  agree  altogether  about 
the  manner  in  which  the  French  people  ought  to  be 
governed.  The  censorship  of  the  press,  the  espionage, 
the  violation  of  private  correspondence,  the  jail  and  the 
gibbet,  will  not  arrest  the  hand  of  the  regicide.  I  have 
read  in  a  journal  to  day,  that  2746  persons  have  already 
been  imprisoned  for  having  censured  the  acts  of  the 
present  government,  in  the  person  of  the  king.  The 
devil  will  get  his  Most  Christian  Majesty  if  he  goes  on 
at  this  rate.  Why  don't  he  learn  that  the  strength  of 
kings,  in  these  days,  is  in  their  weakness?     Why  don't 


REPUBLICAN  INSTITUTIONS.  153 

he  set  np  Mr.  Thiers,  and  then  Mr.  Guizot,  and  then 
Mr.  Thiers  again,  as  they  do  in  England?  Look  at 
King  William — does  anybody  shoot  him?  and  yet  he 
rides  out  with  four  cream-colored  horses,  with  blue 
eyes,  every  day,  and  sometimes  he  walks  into  the 
Hungerford  Market,  and  asks  the  price  of  shrimps. 
Louis  plays  a  principal  part  in  all  his  measures,  even 
his  high-handed  measures.  If  he  makes  himself  a  target, 
he  must  expect  to  be  shot  at.  In  the  beginning  of  his 
reign,  he  played  the  liberal  too  loosely.  "  Why  talk  of 
censorship?"  said  he — "il  tfy  aura  plus  de  deli ts  de 
la  presse." — "  I  am  but  a  bridge  to  arrive  at  the  Re- 
public." With  his  present  acts,  this  language  is  in 
almost  ludicrous  contrast.  He  is  a  Jacobin  turned  king, 
say  his  enemies ;  and  we  must  expect  he  will  run  the 
career  of  all  renegades.  I  have  not  described  his 
disasters  and  dangers  in  a  lamentable  tone,  because  I 
don't  choose  to  affect  a  sympathy  I  do  not  feel.  He 
had  a  quiet  and  delightful  habitation  at  Neuilly ;  and 
since  he  has  not  preferred  it  to  this  "  bare  picket  bone 
of  majesty"  at  the  Tuileries,  let  him  abide  the  conse-* 
quences.  However,  I  shall  be  one  of  those  who  will 
deplore  his  loss,  from  the  good  will  I  bear  the  French 
people,  for  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that,  with  twenty 
years'  possession  of  the  throne,  he  will  bring  them,  in 
all  that  constitutes  real  comfort  and  rational  liberty,  to  a 
degree  of  prosperity  unknown  to  their  history. — Remem- 
ber lam  talking  French,  not  American  politics.  To 
infer  from  the  example  of  America,  that  the  institutions 
of  a  Republic  may  be  introduced  into  these  old  govern- 
ments of  Europe,  requires  yet  the  "experiment"  of 
another  century.  If  we  can  retain  our  democracy  when 
our  back  woodlands  are  filled  up,  when  New  York  and 
Philadelphia  have  become  a  London  and  Paris ;  when 


]  54  UNIVERSITY  EXHIBITIONS. 

the  land  shall  be  covered  with  its  multitudes,  struggling 
for  a  scanty  living,  with  passions  excited  by  luxurious 
habits  and  appetites ;  if  we  can  then  maintain  our  uni- 
versal suffrage,  and  our  liberty,  it  will  be  fair  and 
reasonable  enough  in  us  to  set  ourselves  up  for  the  imi- 
tation of  others,  Liberty,  as  far  as  we  yet  know  her, 
is  not  fitted  to  the  condition  of  these  populous  and 
luxurious  countries.  Her  household  gods  are  of  clay, 
and  her  dwelling  where  the  icy  gales  of  Alleghany  sing 
through  the  crevices  of  her  hut. 

I  have  spent  a  day  at  the  exhibition  of  the  students 
of  the  University,  which  was  conducted  with  great 
pomp.  There  was  a  concour  for  prizes,  and  speeches 
in  the  learned  languages— nothing  but  clarissimi  and 
eruditissimi  Thiers  and  Guizots.  Don't  you  love 
modern  Latin  ?  I  read,  the  other  day,  an  ode  to  "Han- 
nse  Morae ;"  and  I  intend  to  write  one,  some  of  these 
days,  to  Miss  Kittne  and  Nellae,  of  Pine  Hill.  Apropos  — 
what  of  the  Girard  College  ?  when  are  they  to  choose 
the  professors?  and  who  are  the  trustees  ?  I  must  be 
recommended  toioi,  av6ga!tot,<u  ntyaxoist.     Good-night. 


TOUR  OF  PARIS.  155 


LETTER    IX. 

Tour  of  Paris— The  Seine — The  Garden  of  Plants — The  animals — 
Island  of  St.  Louis — The  Halle  aux  Vins — The  police — Palais  de 
Justice — The  Morgue — Number  of  suicides — M.  Perrin — The  Hotel 
de  Ville — Place  de  Greve — The  Pont  Neuf — Quai  des  Augustins — 
The  Institute — Isabeau  de  Baviere — The  Bains  Vigiers — The  Pont 
des  Arts — The  washerwomen's  fete — Swimming-schools  for  both 
sexes — The  Chamber  of  Deputies — Place  de  la  Revolution — Obe- 
lisk of  Luxor — Hospital  of  the  Invalids — Ecole  militaire — The 
Champ  de  Mars — Talleyrand. 

September  14th,  1835. 

After  the  nonsense  of  my  last  letter  I  almost  de- 
spair of  putting  you  in  a  humor  to  enjoy  the  serious 
matter  likely  to  he  contained  in  this.  I  have  just  re- 
turned from  an  excursion  on  foot  from  the  one  end  to 
the  other  of  Paris;  making,  as  a  sensible  traveler  ought 
to  do,  remarks  upon  the  customs,  institutions,  and  monu- 
ments of  the  place  ;  and  here  I  am  with  a  sheet  of 
double  post  to  write  you  down  these  remarks.  I  would 
call  it  a  classical  tour,  but  I  have  some  doubts  whether 
walking  in  a  straight  line  is  a  tour,  and  therefore  I  have 
called  it  simply  a  journal. 

I  had  for  my  companion  the  Seine — he  was  going  for 
sea-bathing  to  the  Havre.  His  destination  thence  no 
more  known  than  ours,  when  we  float  into  eternity. 
Some  little  wave  may,  however,  roll  till  it  reach  the 
banks  of  the  Delaware,  and  who  knows,  that  lifted  into 
vapor  by  the  sun,  it  may  not  spread  in  rains  upon  the 
Broad  Mountain,  and  at  last  del'ght  your  tea  tables  at 


156  THE  SEINE. 

Pine  Hill.  I  send  yon  a  kiss;  and  in  recommending 
the  river  to  your  notice,  I  must  make  you  acquainted 
with  his  history. 

Most  rivers  except  the  Seine,  and  perhaps  the  Nile, 
have  a  high  and  noble  descent — this,  as  1  have  read  in 
a  French  author,  runs  out  of  a  hole  in  the  ground  in  the 
flat  and  dirty  country  of  the  C6te  d'Or  ;  it  was  contained 
once  in  a  monk's  kitchen  near  Dijon,  and  began  the 
world  like  Russian  Kate,  by  washing  the  dishes.  At 
Paris  it  is  called  by  the  polite  French  the  Fleuve  royale. 
Any  stream  in  this  country  which  is  able  to  run  down  a 
hill  is  called  a  river — this,  of  course,  is  a  royal  river.  It 
receives  a  pretty  large  share  of  its  bigness  from  the 
Marne  and  Yonne,  and  some  other  streams,  (for  rivers, 
like  great  men,  are  not  only  great  of  their  own  merits, 
but  by  appropriating  that  of  others,)  and  is  itself  again 
lost  in  the  great  ocean.  It  is  the  most  beneficent  river 
on  the  Continent — it  distributes  water,  one  of  the  ele- 
ments of  life,  to  near  a  million  of  people,  and  it  gives 
some  to  the  milk-woman,  who  furnishes  me  with  cafe 

au  lait  No.  ,  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  (where 

you  will  direct  your  letters  from  this  date.)  It  is  re- 
ceived in  its  debut  into  Paris  magnificently — the  Garden 
of  Plants  being  on  the  left,  and  the  great  avenue  of  the 
Bastille  and  the  elephant  on  its  right,  and  overhead,  five 
triumphal  arches,  which  were  erected  for  its  reception 
by  Bonaparte,  sustaining  the  superb  bridge  of  Austerlitz. 
And  here  commences  my  journal. 

At  twelve  I  left  the  Garden  of  Plants,  with  only  a 
peep  through  the  railings.  One  cannot  go  inside  here 
without  stumbling  against  all  creation.  The  whole  of 
the  three  kingdoms — animal,  vegetable,  and  mineral — 
are  gathered  into  this  garden  from  the  four  corners  of 
the  earth,  as  they  were  when  Adam  baptized  them.     I 


THE  AMERICAN  ACACIA.  157 

observed  a  great  number  of  plants  growing  out  of  the 
ground  as  fast  as  they  could,  and  little  posts  standing 
prim  and  stiff  along  side  of  them,  to  tell  you  their  names 
in  Apothecaries'  Latin — I  mean  their  modern  names — 
those  they  got  at  the  great  christening  have  been  entirely 
lost,  and  Monsieur  de  Buffon  and  some  others  have  been 
obliged  to  hunt  them  new  ones  out  of  the  dictionary.  I 
did  go  in  a  little  and  stood  along  side  of  an  American 
acacia — conceiting,  for  a  moment,  I  was  on  my  native 
earth  again,  and  so  I  was — for  the  tree  was  transplanted 
from  the  Susquehanna,  and  the  soil  was  brought  with  it. 
It  would  not  otherwise  grow  out  of  its  native  country. 
— Alas,  do  you  expect  that  one's  affections,  so  much 
more  delicate,  will  not  pine  and  wither  away,  where 
there  is  not  a  particle  of  their  native  aliments  to  support 
them  !  I  looked  a  long  time  upon  a  cedar  of  Lebanon 
— it  stands  like  a  patriarch  in  the  midst  of  his  family, 
its  broad  branches  expanded  hospitably,  inviting  the 
traveler  to  repose.  Along  the  skirts  of  the  garden,  one 
sees  lions,  and  tigers,  and  jackals,  and  an  elephant — a 
prisoner  from  Moscara,  lately  burnt  by  the  Grand  Army. 
Several  elephants  fought  and  bled  for  their  country  on 
that  occasion,  and  this  is  one  of  them.  And  finally,  I 
saw  what  you  have  never  seen  in  America,  a  giraffe,  a 
sort  of  quadruped  imitation  of  an  ostrich,  its  head  twenty 
feet  in  the  air  ;  and  there  were  a  great  number  of  chil- 
dren and  their  dear  little  mammas  giving  it  gingerbread. 
Deer//  were  also  stalking  through  the  park — but  in  gra- 
cility  and  sleekness  how  inferior  to  ours  of  the  Maho- 
noy  !  and  several  bears  were  chained  to  posts,  but  not  a 
whit  less  bearish,  nor  better  licked,  though  brought  up  in 
Paris,  than  ours  of  the  Sharp  Mountain.  I  could  not 
help  looking  compassionately  at 'a  buffalo,  who  stood 
thoughtful  and  melancholy  under  an  American  poplar  ; 
vol.  i. — 14 


158  ISLANDS  OF  ST.  MARTIN  AND  ST.  LOUIS. 

his  head  hanging  down,  and  gazing  upon  the  earth.  He 
had  perhaps  left  a  wife  and  children,  and  the  rest  of  the 
family  on  the  hanks  of  the  Missouri !  Wherever  the 
eye  strayed,  new  objects  of  interest  were  developed. 
Goats  afar  off  were  hanging  upon  cliffs,  as  high  as  a 
man's  head ;  and  sheep  from  foreign  countries  (poor 
things  !)  were  bleating  through  valleys — six  feet  wide  ! 
All  the  parrots  in  the  world  were  here  prating;  and 
■whole  nations  of  monkeys,  imitating  the  spectators. 
Nothing  in  all  this  Academy  of  Nature,  seemed  to  draw 
such  general  admiration  as  these  monkeys,  and  these 
parrots.  What  a  concourse  of  observers  !  It  is  so  strange 
in  Paris  to  hear  words  articulated  without  meaning,  and 
see  grimaces  that  have  no  communication  with  the  heart. 

Just  in  leaving  the  Garden,  the  Seine  has  lent  some 
of  its  water  to  St.  Martin,  to  make  an  island — saints  not 
being  able  to  make  islands  without  this  accommodation. 
This  island  of  St.  Martin  is  covered,  during  summer, 
with  huge  piles  of  wood,  ingeniously  arranged  into  py- 
ramids and  conic  sections.  Some  of  the  piles  are  built  into 
dwellings,  and  let  out  for  the  warm  season;  so  you  can 
procure  here  a  very  snug  little  summer  retreat,  and  burn 
your  house  to  warm  your  toes  in  the  winter.  I  ought  to 
tell  you,  (for  acute  travelers  never  let  anything  of  this 
kind  slip,)  that  wood  is  here  two  sous  a  pound.  That 
old  woman,  the  government,  is  very  expensive  in  her 
way  of  living,  and  the  moment  she  finds  any  article  of 
first  necessity,  as  salt  or  fuel,  &c,  she  claps  a  tax  upon 
it.  Besides,  all  that  money,  which  your  rail-road  fana- 
tics about  Schuylkill,  lay  out  in  contrivances  to  carry 
your  coal  to  market,  she  lays  out  in  new  frocks — and 
this  is  the  reason  wood  is  two  cents  a  pound. 

A  little  onward  I  stepped  upon  the  quiet  and  peaceful 
island  of  St.  Louis — quiet !  and  yet  it  is  inhabited  by 


l'isle  de  la  cite.  159 

nearly  all  the  lawyers  of  Paris.  St.  Louis  is  the  only 
saint  that  has  not  left  off  doing  miracles.  The  noisy 
arts  will  not  venture  on  it,  though  four  bridges  have 
been  made  for  their  accommodation.  It  reminds  one  of 
that  world  of  Ovid's  where  everything  went  off  to 
Heaven  except  Justice. — Astrsea  ultima.  Like  all  other 
places  of  Paris  this  island  has  its  curiosities  and  monu- 
ments. You  will  find  here  the  ancient  Hotel  de  Mimes, 
its  ceilings  painted  by  Lebrun  and  Lesueur,  now  a  lum- 
ber-house for  soldiers  and  their  iron  beds,  and  if  you 
give  a  franc  to  the  cicerone  (the  porter  and  his  wife)  you 
can  get  him  to  tell  you  that  Bonaparte  was  hid  here  for 
two  days  after  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  He  will  show 
you,  if  you  seem  to  doubt,  the  very  paillasse,  upon  which 
the  Emperor,  whilst  the  allies  were  marching  into  Paris, 
slept.  You  will  find  here  also  some  imperishable  ruins 
of  Lebrun  and  Lesueur,  in  the  once  famous  Hotel  de 
Bretonvilliers,  now  venerable  for  its  dirt,  as  well  as  its 
antiquity. 

I  admired  awhile  the  "  Halle  aux  Vins,"  one  of  the 
curiosities  of  the  left  bank,  enclosed  on  three  sides  by 
a  wall,  and  on  the  side  of  the  Seine,  by  an  iron  railing  889 
yards.  It  contains  800,000  casks  of  wine  and  spirits,  from 
which  are  drawn  annually  for  the  use  of  Paris,  twenty 
millions  of  gallons.  France,  by  a  cunning  legislation, 
prevents  this  natural  produce  of  her  soil  escaping  from 
the  country,  by  laying  a  prohibitory  duty  upon  the  in- 
dustry of  other  nations,  which  would  enable  them  to 
purchase  it ;  so  we  have  the  whole  drinking  of  it  to  our- 
selves, and  we  oblige  John  Bull  to  stick  to  his  inflam- 
matory Port  and  Madeira. 

L'isle  de  la  Cite*  comes  next;  the  last  but  not  the  least 
remarkable  of  the  three  sister  islands,  called  the  Island 
of  the  Cite,  because  once  all  Paris  was  here,  and  there 


160  NOTRE  DAME. 

was  no  Paris  anywhere  else.  Antony  used  to  quaff  old 
Palernian  on  this  island  with  Caesar,  and  run  after  the 
grisettc  girls  and  milliners,  whilst  they  sent  Labienus  to 
look  after  Dumnorix  ;  and  here  in  a  later  age  came  the 
gay  and  gartered  earls ;  knights  in  full  panoply ;  fashion- 
able belles -in  rustling  silks,  and  the  winds  brought  deli- 
cate perfumes  on  their  wings.  At  present  no  Arabic 
incense  is  wasted  upon  the  air  of  this  island.  Filth  has 
set  up  her  tavern  here,  and  keeps  the  dirtiest  house  of 
all  Paris.  But  in  the  midst  of  this  beggary  of  comfort 
and  decency,  are  glorious  monuments  which  the  rust  of 
ages  has  not  yet  consumed  ;  the  Hotel  Diea,  Palais  de 
Justice,  and  Prefect  urate  of  Police ;  and  I  had  like  to 
have  forgotten  that  majestic  old  pile  with  fretted  roofs 
and  towers  pinnacled  in  the  clouds,  with  Gothic  win- 
dows, and  grizzly  saints  painted  on  them, 

"So  old,  as  if  she  had  forever  stood, 
So  strong  as  if  she  would  forever  stand," 

whose  bells  at  this  moment  are  tolling  over  the  dead, 
the  venerable,  the  time-honored  Notre  Dame  de  Paris. 
This  old  lady  is  the  queen  of  the  cite.  Her  corner-stone 
was  laid  by  Pope  Alexander  III.,  upon  the  ruins  of  an 
old  Roman  temple  of  Jupiter,  in  1 163.  So  you  see  she  is 
a  very  reverend  old  lady.  Her  bell  is  eight  feet  in  dia- 
meter, and  requires  sixteen  men  to  set  its  clapper  in  mo- 
tion. On  entering  this  church,  the  work  of  so  many 
generations,  in  contemplating  its  size,  the  immense  height 
of  its  dome  and  roofs,  and  the  huge  pillars  which  sustain 
them,  with  the  happy  disposition  and  harmony  of  all 
these  masses,  one  is  seized  with  a  very  sudden  reverence, 
and  a  very  modest  sense  of  one's  own  littleness;  and 
yet  a  minute  before  one  looked  upon  the  glorious  sun, 
and  walked  under  "  this  most  excellent  canopy"  almost 


THE  PALAIS  DE  JUSTICE.  161 

without  astonishment.  You  will  see  here,  at  all  hours 
o[  the  day,  persons  devoutly  at  their  beads,  intent  on 
their  prayer-books,  or  kneeling  at  the  cross.  Except  on 
days  of  parade,  you  will  see  almost  six  women  to  one 
man;  and  these  rather  old.  Women  must  love  some- 
thing. When  the  day  of  their  terrestrial  affections  has 
faded,  their  loves  become  celestial.  When  they  can't  love 
anything  else,  why  they  love  God.  "  Aime  Dieu,  Sainte 
Thertse,  c'est  toujour  aimer."  The  Emperor  Julian 
stayed  a  winter  on  this  island,  at  which  time  the  river 
washed  (not  the  Emperor,*  but)  the  base  of  the  walls 
of  the  city  ;  and  Paris  was  accessible  only  by  two  wooden 
bridges.  He  called  it  his  Lutetia,  i^v  ^>atjv  Aevxsttav, 
his  beloved  city  of  mud. 

The  Palais  de  Justice,  or  Lit  de  Justice,  as  the 
French  appropriately  call  it,  (for  the  old  lady  does  some- 
times take  a  nap,)  is  a  next  door  neighbor.  This  palace 
lodged,  long  ago,  the  old  Roman  Prsefects ;  the  kings  of 
the  first  race,  the  counts  of  Paris  under  the  second,  and 
twelve  kings  of  the  third.  The  great  Hotel  Dieu,  or 
Hospital,  counts  all  the  years  between  us  and  King 
Pepin,  about  twelve  hundred.  It  is  a  manly,  solid  and 
majestic  building;  its  facade  is  adorned  with  Doric 
columns,  and  beneath  the  entablature,  are  Force,  Pru- 
dence  and  Justice,  and  several  other  virtues  "  stupe- 

•  We  learn  from  tradition  that  Julian  never  washed  hands  or  face, 
or  suffered  any  kind  of  ablution,  unless,  perhaps,  at  his  christening. 
In  a  word  he  was  a  very  dirty  emperor.  Is  it  not  strange  that  his 
"  Baths"  should  be  the  only  monument  remaining  of  him  in  Paris  1 
I  presume  they  are  named  ironically,  or  from  the  old  rule  of  non  la- 
vando.  The  following  anecdote  is  apropos  to  this  subject.  "His 
steward  one  day  brought  him  a  beautiful  maid,  lathed  and  richly  per- 
fumed, and  his  majesty,  having  discovered  \\,quando  tetigisaet,  et  digit- 
os  suos  odoralus  essel,  he  exclaimed :  "  Diabli .'  Us  m'ontgate  cetlefemme 
Id!"     You  will  find  this  in  the  French  notes  to  Julian's  Misopogon. 

14* 


162  THE  POLICE. 

fied  in  stone."  But  I  will  give  you  a  more  particular 
account  of  it,  as  well  as  of  the  right  worshipful  Notre 
Dame,  and  the  Palace,  when  I  write  my  book  about 
Churches,  Hospitals,  and  the  Courts  of  Justice.  I  will 
only  remark  now  that  I  visited  this  great  hospital  a  few 
days  ago,  and  that  I  saw  in  it  a  thousand  beds,  and  a 
poor  devil  stretched  out  on  each  bed,  waiting  his  turn  to 
be  dispatched;  that  the  doctor  came  along  about  six, 
and  prescribed  a  bouillon  et  un  lavement  to  them  all 
round;  a  hundred  or  two  of  students  following  after,  of 
whom  about  a  dozen  could  approach  the  beds,  and  when 
symptoms  were  examined,  and  legs  cut  off,  or  some  sur- 
gical operation  performed,  the  others  listened. 

But  it  would  be  ungrateful  in  me  to  pass  without  a 
special  notice,  the  Prsefecturate  of  Police.     If  I  now 

lodge  in  the  Rue  D'Enfer,  No. ,  looking  down  upon 

the  garden  of  Luxembourg,  and  having  my  conduct 
registered  once  a  week  in  the  king's  books ;  if  I  have 
permission  to  abide  in  Paris ;  and  above  all,  if  ever  I 
shall  have  the  permission  to  go  out  of  it ;  whither  am  I  to 
refer  these  inestimable  privileges,  but  to  the  never-sleep- 
ing eye  of  the  Prssfecturate  of  Police?  But  the  merits  of 
this  institution  are  founded  upon  a  much  wider  scheme 
of  benefits;  for  which  I  am  going  to  look  into  my  Guide 
de  Paris.  It  "discourages  pauperism"  by  sending  most 
of  the  beggars  out  of  Paris,  to  besiege  the  Diligence  on 
the  highways  ;  and  gives  aid  to  dead  people  by  fishing 
them  out  of  the  Seine  at  25  francs  a  piece  into  the 
Morgue.  It  protects  personal  safety  by  entering  private 
houses  in  the  night,  and  commits  all  persons  taken  in  the 
fact  (flagrant  delit) ;  it  preserves  public  decency  by 
removing  courtesans  from  the  Palais  Royal  to  the  Boule- 
vards, and  other  convenient  places;  and  protects  his 
most  Christian  Majesty  by  seizing  upon  "Infernal  Ma- 


THE  MORGUE.  163 

chines,"  just  after  the  explosion.  In  a  word,  this  Pra> 
fecturate  of  Police,  with  only  500,000  troops  of  the  line 
and  the  National  Guard,  encourages  all  sorts  of  public 
morals  at  the  rate  of  seven  hundred  million  francs  per 
annum,  besides  protecting  commerce  by  taking  gentle- 
men's cigars  out  of  their  pockets  at  Havre. 

Towards  the  south  and  west  of  the  island  you  will 
see  a  little  building  distinguished  from  its  dingy  neigh- 
bors by  its  gentility  and  freshness.  It  stands  retired  by 
the  river  side  modestly,  giving  a  picturesque  appear- 
ance to  the  whole  prospect,  and  a  relief  to  the  giant 
monuments  which  I  have  just  described.  This  building 
is  the  Morgue.  If  any  gentleman,  having  lost  his  money 
at  Frascati's — or  his  health  and  his  money  too  at  the 
pretty  Flora's — or  if  any  melancholy  stranger  lodging 
in  the  Rue  D'Enfer,  absent  from  his  native  home  and  the 
sweet  affections  of  his  friends,  should  find  life  insup- 
portable, (there  are  no  disappointed  loves  in  this  coun- 
try,) he  will  lie  in  state  next  morning  at  the  Morgue. 
Upon  a  black  marble  table  he  will  be  stretched  out,  and 
his  clothes,  bloody  or  wet,  will  be  hung  over  him,  and 
there  he  will  be  kept  (except  in  August,  when  he  won't 
keep)  for  three  whole  days  and  as  many  nights ;  and  if 
no  one  claims  him,  why  then  the  King  of  the  French  sells 
him  for  ten  francs  to  the  doctors  ;  and  his  clothes,  after 
six  months,  belong  to  Francois  the  steward,  who  has 
them  altered  for  his  dear  little  children,  or  sells  them  for 
second  hand  finery  in  the  market. 

One  of  these  suicides,  as  I  have  read  in  the  Revue  de 
Paris,  was  claimed  the  other  day  by  his  affectionate 
uncle,  as  follows.  A  youth  wrote  to  his  uncle  that  he 
had  lost  at  gambling  certain  sums  entrusted  to  him,  in 
his  province,  to  pay  a  debt  in  Paris,  and  that  he  was 
unwilling  to  survive  the  disgrace.   The  uncle  recognized 


164  NUMDER  OF  SUICIDES. 

him,  and  buried  him  with  becoming  ceremony  at  Pere  la 
Chaise.  In  returning  home  from  this  solemn  duly,  the 
youth  rushed  into  his  uncle's  arms,  and  they  hugged  and 
kissed,  and  hugged  each  other  to  the  astonishment  of  tho 
spectators.  It  is  so  agreeable  to  see  one's  nephews  after 
one  has  buried  them,  jump  about  one's  neck  ! 

The  annual  number  of  persons  who  commit  suicide 
in  all  France  I  have  seen  stated  at  two  thousand.  Those 
who  came  to  the  Morgue  in  1822,  were  2G0.  Is  it  not 
strange  that  the  French  character,  so  flexible  and  fruit- 
ful of  resources  in  all  circumstances  of  fortune,  should 
be  subject  to  this  excess?  And  that  they  should  kill 
themselves,  too,  for  the  most  absurd  and  frivolous 
causes. — One,  as  I  have  read  in  the  journals,  from  dis- 
gust at  putting  on  his  breeches  in  the  cold  winter  morn- 
ings— and  two  lately  (Ecousse  and  Lebrun)  because  a 
farce  they  had  written  did  not  succeed  at  the  play  house. 
The  authors  chose  to  incur  the  same  penalty  in  the 
other  world  that  was  inflicted  on  their  vaudeville  in 
this.  And  these  Catos  of  Utica  are  brought  here  to  the 
Morgue.  The  greater  part  are  caught  in  the  Seine,  by 
a  net  stretched  across  the  river  at  St.  Cloud.  Formerly 
twenty-five  francs  were  given  for  a  man  saved,  and 
twenty  if  drowned;  and  the  rogues  cheated  the  govern- 
ment of  its  humanity  by  getting  up  a  company,  who 
saved  each  other  time  about  by  collusion.  The  sum  is 
now  reversed,  so  that  they  always  allow  one  time,  and 
even  assist  one  a  little  sometimes,  for  the  additional  five 
francs.  The  building,  by  the  advance  of  civilization, 
has  required,  this  season,  to  be  repaired,  and  a  new 
story  is  added.  Multitudes,  male  and  female,  are  seen 
going  in  and  out  at  every  hour  of  the  day.  You  can 
stop  in  on  your  way  as  you  go  to  the  flower  market, 
which  is  just  opposite.     There  is  a  lady  at  the  bureau 


M.  PERRIN. 


165 


who  attends  in  her  father's  absence  the  sale  and  recog- 
nition of  the  corpses,  and  who  plays  the  piano  and 
excels  in  several  of  the  ornamental  branches. 

She  was  crowned  at  the  last  distribution  of  prizes, 
and  is  the  daughter  of  the  keeper,  Mr.  Perrin.  He  has 
four  other  daughters,  who  also  give  the  same  promise 
of  accomplishment.  Their  morals  do  not  run  the  same 
risk  as  most  other  children's,  of  being  spoilt  by  a  bad 
intercourse  from  without.  Indeed  they  are  so  little  used 
to  associate  abroad,  that,  getting  into  a  neighbor's  the 
other  day,  they  asked  their  playmates,  running  about 
through  the  house, "  Where  does  your  papa  keep  his 
dead  people?"  Innocent  little  creatures!  Mr.  Perrin 
is  a  man  of  excellent  instruction  himself,  and  entertains 
his  visitors  with  conversations  literary  and  scientific,  and 
he  writes  a  fine  round  text  hand.  When  a  new  corpse 
arrives  he  puts  himself  at  his  desk,  and  with  a  graceful 
flourish  enters  it  on  the  book ;  and  when  not  claimed  at 
the  end  of  three  days,  he  writes  down  in  German  text, 
"  mconnu;"  if  known,"  conna."  The  exhibition  room 
is,  since  its  enlargement,  sufficient  for  the  ordinary 
wants  of  society  ;  but  on  emergencies,  as  on  the  "  three 
glorious  days,"  and  the  like,  they  are  obliged  to  accom- 
modate a  part  of  the  corpses  elsewhere.  They  have 
been  strewed,  on  these  occasions,  over  the  garden ;  and 
Miss  Perrin  has  to  take  some  in  her  room.— Alas,  that 
no  state  of  life  should  be  exempt  from  its  miseries! 
You  who  think  to  have  propitiated  fortune  by  the 
humility  of  your  condition,  come  hither  and  contem- 
plate Mr.  Perrin.  Only  a  few  years  ago,  when  quietly 
engaged  in  his  official  duties,  his  own  wife  came  in  with 
the  other  customers.  He  was  struck  with  horror;  and 
he  went  to  his  bureau  and  wrote  down  "  connu  /" 
The   notorious  Hotel  de  Ville  is  well  placed  in  a 


1G6  PLACE  DE  GREVE. 

group  with  these  obscene  images.  It  is  the  seat  of  the 
administration  of  justice  for  all  Paris,  a  gray  and  grief- 
worn-castle  ;  with  the  Place  de  Greve  by  the  side  of  it. 
There  it  stands  by  the  great  thermometer  of  Monsieur 
Chevalier,  where  the  French  people  come  twice  a  day 
to  see  if  they  ought  to  shiver  or  sweat.  There  is  not  a 
more  abominable  place  in  all  Paris  than  this  Place  de 
Grhve.  It  holds  about  the  same  rank  in  the  city  that 
the  hangman  does  in  the  community.  There  flowed  the 
blood  of  the  ferocious  Republic,  of  the  grim  Empire, 
and  the  avenging  Restoration.  Lally's  ghost  haunts  the 
guilty  place.  Cartouche  was  burnt  there,  and  the  hor- 
rible Marchioness  Brinvilliers  ;  Damiens  and  Ravaillac 
were  tortured  there;  the  beautiful  Princess  de  Lam- 
balle  assassinated  there,  and  the  martyrs  of  1830  buried 
there.  To  complete  your  horror,  there  is  yet  the  lamp- 
post— the  Revolutionary  gibbet, and  the  window  through 
which  Robespierre  leaped  out,  and  broke — if  I  were  not 
writing  to  a  lady  I  would  say — his  damned  neck  !  No 
accusing  spirit  would  fly  to  Heaven's  chancery  with 
the  oath. 

I  began  to  breathe  as  I  stepped  upon  the  Pont  Nenf. 
— The  atmosphere  brightened,  the  prospect  suddenly 
opened,  and  the  noble  river  exhibited  its  twenty  bridges, 
and  its  banks,  turreted,  towered  and  castellated,  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  pierce.  There  is  a  romantic  interest  in 
the  very  name  of  this  bridge,  as  in  the  "Bridge  of 
Sighs,"  though  not  a  great  deal  richer  in  architecture 
than  yours  of  Fair  Mount.  And  what  is  the  reason  ? 
Why  is  the  Rialto  more  noble  than  your  Exchange  of 
Dock  Street?  You  see  Pierre  and  Jaffier,  and  the  Jew, 
standing  on  it.  The  Pont  Nenf  has  arched  the  Seine 
since  200  years  and  more.  It  was  once  the  centre  of 
gayety  and  fashion,  and  business.     Here  was  displayed 


THE  BIBLIOPOLIST.  167 

the  barbaric  luxury  of  Marie  de  Medicis,  and  the  pom- 
pous Richelieu ;  glittering  equipages  paraded  here  in 
their  evening  airings,  and  fair  ladies  in  masks — better 
disguised  in  their  own  faces — crowded  here  to  the 
midnight  routs  of  the  Carnival.  A  company  in  1709 
had  an  exclusive  privilege  of  a  depot  of  umbrellas  at  each 
end,  that  ladies  and  gentlemen  paying  a  sous  might 
cross  without  injury  to  their  complexions.  The  fine 
arts,  formerly  natives  of  this  place,  have  since  emigrated 
to  the  Palais  Royal — ripse  ulterior  is  amentes — and 
despair  now  comes  hither  at  midnight — and  the  horrid 
suicide,  by  the  silent  statue  of  the  great  Henry,  plunges 
into  eternity. 

On  the  left  is  the  Quai  des  Augustins,  where  the  pa- 
tient bibliopolist  sits  over  his  odd  volumes,  and  where 
the  cheapest  of  all  human  commodities  is  human  wit. 
A  black  and  ancient  building  gives  an  imposing  front  to 
the  Quai  Conti;  it  is  the  Hotel  des  Monnaies.  Com- 
merce, Prudence,  and  several  other  allegorical  grand- 
mothers are  looking  down  from  the  balustrade.  Next 
to  it,  (for  the  Muses,  too,  love  the  mint,)  with  a  horse-shoe 
kind  of  face,  is  the  Royal  "  Institute  de  France" 
This  court  has  supreme  jurisdiction  in  'the  French  Re- 
public of  letters;  it  regulates  the  public  judgment  in 
matters  of  science,  fine  arts,  language,  and  literary 
composition  :  it  proposes  questions,  and  rewards  the  least 
stupid,  if  discovered,  with  a  premium,  and  gives  its  ap- 
probation of  ingenious  inventors,  who,  like  Fulton,  do 
not  die  of  hunger  in  waiting  for  it.  You  may  attend  the 
sittings  of  the  Jlcademie  des  Sciences,  which  are  public, 
on  Mondays.  You  will  meet  Pascal  and  Moliere  in 
the  antechamber — as  far  as  they  dared  venture  in  their 
lives.  The  members  you  will  see  in  front  of  broad 
tables  in  the  interior,  and  the  President  eminent  above 


168  ACADEMIE  DES  SCIENCES. 

the  rest,  who  ever  and  anon  will  ring  a  little  bell  by  way 
of  keeping  less  noise1:  the  spectators,  with  busts  of  Sully, 
Bossnet,  Fenelon,  and  Descartes,  sitting  gravely  tier  over 
tier,  around  the  extremities  of  the  room.  The  Secretary 
will  then  run  over  a  programme  of  the  subjects,  not 
without  frequent  tinklings  of  the  admonitory  bell ;  at  the 
end  of  which,  debates  will  probably  arise  on  general 
subjects  or  matters  of  form.  For  example,  Mr.  Arago 
will  call  in  question  the  veracity  of  that  eminent  man, 
Mr.,  Herschel,  of  New  York,  and  his  selenelogical  dis- 
coveries ;  which  have  a  great  credit  here ;  no  one  sees 
the  moon  for  the  fogs,  and  you  may  tell  as  many  lies 
about  her  as  you  please.  Afterwards  a  little  man  of 
solemn  mien,  being  seated  upon  a  chair,  will  read  you, 
alas,  one  of  his  own  compositions.  He  will  talk  of  no- 
thing but  the  geognosie  des  couches  atmospheriqucs  ;  the 
isomorphism  of  the  mineralogical  substances,  and  the 
"Myfitotes  of  the  Parabola,"  for  an  hour.  You  will 
then  have  an  episode  from  Baron  Lary  (no  one  listening) 
upon  a  bag  of  dry  bones,  displayed  h  la  Johassaphat, 
upon  a  wide  table,  followed  by  another  reader,  and  then 
by  another  to  the  end  of  the  sitting— You  will  think  the 
empire  of  dnlness  has  come  upon  the  earth. 

The  Institute  was  once  the  College  des  Quatre 
Nations,  and  was  founded  by  Mazarin  upon  the  ruins 
of  the  famous  Tour  de  Nesle.  I  need  not  tell  you  the 
history  of  this  Tour.  Who  does  not  know  all  about 
Qneen  Isabeau  de  Baviere  ?  Of  her  window  from  the 
heights  of  the  Tour,  from  which  she  overlooked  the 
Seine,  before  the  baths  of  Count  Vigier  (what  made  him 
a  count?)  were  invented  ?  She  was  a  great  admirer  of 
the  fine  forms  of  the  human  figure ;  and  she  was  the 
first  woman  in  Europe,  as  I  have  read  in  the  old  chroni- 
cles, who  had  two  chemises.     The  French  have  always 


PONT  DES  ARTS.  169 

been  fond  of  much  linen.  I  have  no  wish  to  find  fault 
with  her  for  this  latter  piece  of  extravagance  ;  but  I 
cannot  speak  with  the  same  indulgence  of  other  parti- 
culars of  her  history.  Her  ill  treatment  of  her  lovers — 
her  sewing  them  up,  to  prevent  their  telling  tales,  in 
sacks,  and  then  tossing  them  before  daylight  into  the 
river,  was,  to  say  the  least  of  it — very  wrong  !  In 
crossing  the  Pont  des  Arts  towards  midnight  I  have 
often  heard  something  very  like  the  voices  of  lamenta- 
tion and  violence.  Sometimes  I  thought  I  could  hear 
distinctly  Isabeau  !  in  the  murmuring  of  the  waters. 

All  the  world  runs  to  the  Bains  Vigiers,  which 
are -anchored  along  this  Quai,  to  bathe  at  four  sous; 
but  the  water  is  exceedingly  foul.     It  is  here  the  Seine, 

"  With  disemboguing  streams, 
Rolls  the  large  tribute  of  its  dead  dogs." 

And  what  is  worst,  when  done  bathing  here,  you  have 
no  place  to  go  to  wash  yourself. 

The  Pont  des  Arts  is  a  light  and  airy  bridge  from 
the  door  of  the  Institute  to  the  Quai  dn  Louvre  ;  upon 
which  no  equipages  are  admitted.  The  Arts  use  their 
legs — cruribus  non  curribus  utuntur.  Between  this 
and  the  "  Pont  Royal,"  (a  bridge  of  solid  iron,)  the 
antiquarians  have  got  together  for  sale  all  the  curious 
remains  of  the  last  century,  Chineseries,  Sevreries,  and 
chimney  pieces  of  Madame  Pompadour.  Next  is  the 
Quai  Voltaire,  in  the  east  corner  of  which  is  the  last 
earthly  habitation  of  the  illustrious  individual  whose 
name  it  bears.  The  apartment  in  which  he  died  has 
been  kept  shut  for  the  last  forty  years,  and  has  been 
lately  thrown  open.  On  the  opposite  side  you  see 
stretched  out  huge  in  length,  the  heavy  and  monotonous 
Louvre,  which,  with  the  Tuileries  adjoining,  is,  they 
vol.  i. — 15 


170  THE  WASHERWOMEN. 

say,  the  most  spacious  and  beautiful  palace  in  the  world. 
I  have  not  experienced  what  the  artists  call  a  percep- 
tion of  its  beauties.  There  is  a  little  pet  corner,  the 
eastern  colonnade  raised  by  Louis  XIV.,  which  is  called 
the  great  'triumph  of  French  architecture.  It  consists  of 
a  long  series  of  apartments  decorated  with  superb  co- 
lumns, with  sculpture  and  mosaics,  and  a  profusion  of 
gilding,  and  fanciful  ornaments.*  From  the  middle 
gallery  it  was  that  Charles  IX.,  one  summer's  evening, 
amused  himself  shooting  Huguenots,  flying  the  St.  Bar- 
tholomew, with  his  arquebuss.  Nero  was  a  mere  fiddler 
to  this  fellow.  This  is  the  gallery  of  Philip  Augustus, 
so  full  of  romance.  It  was  from  here  that  Charles  X. 
"cut  and  ran,"  and  Louis  Philippe  quietly  sat  down  on 
his  stool.  See  how  the  Palais  des  Beaux  Arts  is  pep- 
pered with  the  Swiss  bullets  ! 

The  edge  of  the  river,  for  half  a  mile,  is  embroidered 
with  washerwomen ;  and  baths,  and  boats  of  charcoal 
cover  its  whole  surface.  One  cannot  drown  himself 
here,  but  at  the  risk  of  knocking  out  his  brains.  One  of  the 
curiosities  of  this  place,  is  the/e/e  des  Blanchissevses, 
celebrated  a  few  days  ago.  The  whole  surface  of  the 
river  was  covered  with  dances;  floors  being  strewed 
upon  the  boats;  and  the  boats  adorned  with  flags  and 
streamers,  rowing  about,  and  filled  with  elegant  washer- 
women, just  from  the  froth,  like  so  many  Venuses — 
now  dissolving  in  a  waltz,  now  fluttering  in  a  quadrille. 
You  ought  to  have  seen  how  they  chose  out  the  most 
beautiful  of  these    washerwomen — the   Queen  of  the 

*  Louis,  by  a  royal  edict,  ordered  that  no  other  building  should  be 
constructed  in  Paris  until  this  work  was  complete,  under  a  penalty 
of  imprisonment,  and  ten  thousand  francs  fine.  It  was  something  in 
those  days  to  be  a  king.  One  has  now  to  ask  the  Deputies  every 
thing,  even  to  gilding  the  ceilings  of  the  Madelaine. 


SWIMMING  SCHOOLS.  171 

Suds— and  rowed  her  in  a  triumphal  gondola  through 
the  stream,  with  music  that  untwisted  all  the  chains  of 
harmony. 

"Not  Cleopatra,  on  her  galley's  deck, 
Displayed  so  much  of  leg,  or  more  of  neck." 

This  array  of  washing-boats  relieves  the  French  from 
that  confusion,  and  misery  of  the  American  kitchen,  the 
"  washing-day  ;"  but  to  give  us  the  water  to  drink,  after 
all  this  scouring  of  foul  linen,  is  not  so  polite.  I  have 
bought  a  filter  of  charcoal,  which,  they  say,  will  in- 
tercept, at  least,  the  petticoats  and  other  such  articles, 
as  I  might  have  swallowed.  The  Seine  here  suffers 
the  same  want  as  one  of  his  brother  rivers,  sung  by  the 
poets: 

"The  river  Rhine,  it  is  well  known, 
Doth  wash  the  city  of  Cologne, 
But  tell  me,  Nymphs,  what  power  diyine, 
Shall  henceforth  Wash  the  river  Rhine." 

Just  opposite  the  Quai,  I  observed  "  Schools  of  Nata- 
tion," for  both  sexes,  kept  entirely  separate.  An  ad- 
monition is  placed  over  the  ladies'  school  to  this  effect, 
in  large  letters;  besides  it  is  hermetically  secured  against 
any  impertinent  intrusion,  by  a  piece  of  linen.  The 
ladies,  however,  were  put  to  their  last  shifts,  last  summer, 
in  maintaining  this  establishment.  Such  rigid  notions 
do  some  persons  here  entertain  of  feminine  decorum ! 
But  opposition  has  now  died  away ;  and  the  reports 
about  gentlemen  of  the  "  other  house"  becoming  love- 
sick, from  swimming  in  the  waters  from  the  ladies' 
bath,  have  been  proved  malicious:  for  the  gentlemen's 
house  is  further  up  the  stream,  "  et par  consequence.'''' — •„ 
The  truth  is,  that  a  lady  has  as  much  right,  and,  unfor-' 
tunately,  in  these  shipwrecking  times,  as  much  neces- 


172  THE  TELESCOPE  MAKKH. 

sity  often,  lo  swim  as  a  gentleman  ;  and  it  is  ascertained 
that,  with  the  same  chance,  the   woman   is  the  belter 
swimmer  of  the  two.     (I  have  this  from  the  lady  who 
keeps  the  bureau.)     Her  head  is  always  above  the  water. 
All  of  them,  and  especially  those  who  have  the  vapors, 
can  swim  without  cork.     The  process  of  instruction  is 
easy.     All  that  the  swimming  master  has  to  do,  is  just 
to  thrust  the   little  creatures  into  a   pair  of  gum-elastic 
trousers,  and  a  cravat,  inflated,  and  then  pitch  them  in, 
one  after  another — only  taking  care  not  to  put  on   the 
trousers  without  the  cravat.— I  will  finish  this  paragraph, 
already  too  long,  by  an  anecdote.     I  will  show  you  that 
ladies,  who  swim,  cannot  use  too  much  circumspection. 
I  mean,  by  circumspection,  looking  up,  as  well  as  round 
about  them.     The  ever  vigilant  police  about  the  Tui- 
leries,  had  observed  a  young  gentleman  very  busy  with 
tools,  at  an  opposite  garret  window,  for  whole  weeks 
together.     Sometimes,  till  the  latest  hour  of  the  night, 
his  lamp  was  seen  glimmering  at  the  said  window.     At 
length,  by  the  dint  of  looking,  and  looking  they  disco- 
vered something  like  an  "  Infernal  Machine,"  placed 
directly  towards  the  apartment  of  the  king  and  queen, 
and  the  bedchamber  of  the  dear  little  princesses  and 
Madame  Adelaide.     It  was  just  after  the  July  review, 
and  General  Mortier's  disaster;  and  suspicion  lay  all 
night  wide  awake.     What  needs  many  words?     They 
burst  into  the   room — the  "  Garde  Municipale"  and 
the  "police  centrale"  the  "pompiers ,"  and  the  "  sa- 
peurs"  and  the  Serjeants  clad  in  blue,  with  buttons  to 
their  arms,  and  swords  to  their  sides,  and  coifed  in  cha- 
peaux,  three  feet  in  diameter — breaking  down  all  oppo- 
sition of  doors,  and  dragged  forth  the  terrified  young 
man.     The  tongues  of  all  Paris  were  now  set  loose,  as 
usual,  and  proclamations  were  read  through  the  streets, 


THE  GARDENS  OF  THE  TUILERIES.  173 

de  V horrible  assassinal  tente  contre  la  vie  du  roi,et  de  la 
famille  royale,  &c.  &c,  and  all  that  for  four  sous !  It  was 
even  said,  that  he  had  made  important  revelations  to 
the  minister  of  the  Interior;  and  that  some  of  the  most 
distinguished  Carlists  were  implicated  in  his  guilt.  At 
length,  he  was  brought  up  before  the  Chamber  of 
Peers,  with  his  machine;  where  it  was  examined,  and 
discovered  to  be — what  do  you  think? — a  telescope! 
The  young  man  alleged  that  he  was  getting  it  up  for 
astronomical  purposes;  but  the  president,  a  shrewd  man 
about  machines,  observed  that  its  obliquity  was  in  an 
opposite  direction  to  the  stars. 

The  Seine  flows  gently  by  the  side  of  the  Tuileries, 
both  from  the  pleasure  it  has  had  in  bathing  the  royal 
family,  and  the  delight  of  listening  to  the  king's  band, 
which  plays  here  every  evening,  and  from  this  onwards, 
the  right  bank  is  occupied  by  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries 
and  Champs  Elysees.  If  you  wish  to  know  how  more 
beautiful  than  the  gardens  of  Armida  is  this  garden  of 
the  Tuileries,  I  refer  you  to  my  former  letters ;  especially 
to  that  one  which  I  wrote  you  when  I  had  just  fallen 
from  the  clouds.  I  admired,  then,  everything  with  sen- 
sibility, and  a  good  many  things  with  ecstacy.  Some- 
body has  said,  that  every  one  who  is  born,  is  as  much  a 
first  man  as  Adam,  which  I  do  not  quite  believe.  Adam 
came  straight  into  the  world,  "  all  made  up."  He  came 
into  the  midst  of  a  creation,  which  rushed,  with  the 
freshness  of  novelty  upon  his  senses,  and  was  not  intro- 
duced to  him  by  gradual  acquaintance.  How  many 
things  did  this  first  man  see  in  Eden,  which  you  and  I 
could  never  have  seen  in  it ;  and  which  he  himself  had 
never  seen  in  it,  if  he  had  been  put  out  to  nurse  or  had 
been  brought  up  at  the  "  College  Rolein."  I  wish  it  had. 
pleased  Providence  to  people  this  world  with  men  and 

15* 


174  THE  MARQUIS  DE  MEILLERAYE. 

women  of  his  own  making,  and  not  left  us  to  be  made 
by  bungling  nurses,  and  still  more  bungling  schoolmas- 
ters. How  often  have  I  since  wandered  through  this 
garden,  without  even  glancing  at  the  white  and  snowy 
bosom  of  the  Queen  of  Love  — how  often  walked  upon 
this  goodly  terrace,  strolling  all  the  while,  the  pretty 
Miss  Smith  at  one  arm,  and  thy  incomparable  self  at  the 
other,  by  the  wizard  Schuylkill,  or  the  silent  woods  of 
the  Mahontongo. 

Opposite  this  garden,  on  the  Quai  d'Orsay,  is  the 
Hotel,  not  finished,  of  the  Minister  of  the  Interieur ;  the 
most  enormous  building  of  all  Paris.  It  has  turned  all 
the  houses  near  it  into  huts.  That,  just  under  its  huge 
flanks,  with  a  meek  and  prostrate  aspect,  as  if  making 
an  apology,  for  intruding  into  the  presence  of  its  pro- 
digious neighbor,  that  is  the  Hotel  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor.  Alas,  what  signifies  it  to  have  bullied  all  Eu- 
rope for  half  a  century  !  Close  by  is  a  little  chateau, 
formerly  of  the  Marquis  de  Meilleraye,  which  I  notice  only 
to  tell  you  an  anecdote  of  his  wife.  The  prince  Philip 
came  to  Paris,  and  died  very  suddenly — under  Louis 
XIV.  He  was  a  great  roue  and  libertine,  and  some  one 
moralizing,  expressed  before  the  Marchioness,  doubts 
about  his  salvation.  "  Je  vons  assure,"  said  she,  very 
seriously,  "  qu'  ct  des  gens  de  cette  quallte  la  Dieu  y 
regarde,  bien  a  deux  fois  pour  les  damner."  Ladies 
bred  in  high  life  don't  think  that  kings  may  be  damned 
like  thee  and  me. 

The  next  object  of  importance,  and  the  object  of  most 
importance  of  all  Paris,  is  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  I 
wished  to  go  in,  but  four  churlish  and  bearded  men  dis- 
puted me  this  privilege.  I  sat  down,  therefore,  upon 
the  steps,  having  Justice,  Temperance,  and  Prudence, 
and  anotherelderly  lady,  on  each  side  of  me ;  and  I  con- 


A  FAIR  VISITANT.  175 

soled  myself  and  said :  In  this  House  the  Virtues  arc 
shut  out  of  doors.  1  had  also  in  the  same  group,  Sully, 
Hopital,  D'Aguesseau,  and  Colbert.  What  superhuman 
figures!  And  I  had  in  front  the  Bridge  of  Concord, 
upon  which  are  placed  twelve  statues  in  marble,  also  of 
the  Colossal  breed.  A  deputy,  as  he  waddles  through 
the  midst  of  them,  seems  no  bigger  than  Lemuel  Gulli- 
ver, just  arrived  at  Brobdignag.  Four  are  of  men  dis- 
tinguished in  war;  Cond6,  who  looks  ridiculously  grim, 
and  Turenne,  Duguesclin,  and  Bayard;  and  four  emi- 
nent statesmen,  Suger,  Richelieu,  Sully,  Colbert;  and 
four  of  men  famous  on  the  sea,  Tourville,  Suffren,  Du- 
quesne,  and  who  was  the  other? — He  whose  name 
would  shame  an  epic  poem,  or  the  Paris  Directory, 
Duguay-Trouin.  I  took  off  my  hat  to  Suffren,  for  he 
helped  us  with  our  Independence. 

On  the  back  ground  of  this  Palace,  is  a  delightful 
woodland,  where  the  members  often  seek  refreshment 
from  the  fatigues  of  business  in  the  open  air.  Here 
you  will  see  a  Lycurgus  seated  apart,  and  ruminating 
upon  the  fate  of  empires;  and  there  a  pair  of  Solons, 
unfolding  the  mazes  of  human  policy,  straying  arm  in 

arm  through  its  solitary  gravel  walks.     M.  Q ,  a 

member  of  this  chamber  and  sometimes  minister,  was 
seen  walking  here  assiduously  during  the  last  summer 
evenings;  and  often  when  the  twilight  had  just  faded 
into  night,  a  beautiful  female  figure  was  seen  walking 
with  him.  It  did  not  seem  to  be  of  mortal  race,  but  a  spirit 
of  some  brighter  sphere,  which  had  consented  awhile 

to  walk  upon  this  earth  with  Monsieur  Q .    It  was, 

however,  the  wife  of  Monsieur  0 ,  another  member 

of  this  chamber. — One  essential  difference,  you  may  re- 
mark between  Numa  Pompilius  and  Deputy  Q is, 

that  the  one  met  ladies  in  the  woods,  for  the  making  of 


176  PLACE  DE  LA  KEVOLUTION. 

laws— and  the  other  for  the  breaking  of  them.  Mon- 
sieur 0 ,  informed  of  the  fact,  took  a  signal  revenge 

upon  the  seducer  of  his  wife.  And  what  do  you  think 
it  was  ? — lie  called  him  out,  to  be  sure,  and  blew  out 
his  brains.  Not  a  bit  of  it. — He  waylaid  him  then,  and 
dispatched  him  secretly  ?  Much  less.  I  will  tell  you 
what  he  did.  He  took  Monsieur  Q 's  wife  in  ex- 
change.—  In  telling  this  tale,  which  I  had  on  pretty  good 
authority,  I  do  not  mean  to  say — Heaven  preserve  me — 
that  there  are  not  honest  wives  in  Paris. 

"  II  en  est  jusqu'a  trois  que  je  pourrais  nommer." 

I  have  now  before  me  one  of  the  most  execrable 
spots  upon  this  earth; — a  "damned  spot,"  which  all  the 
perfumes  of  Arabia  cannot  sweeten — the  "  Place  de  la 
Revolution"* — where  the  Queen  of  France  suffered 
death  with  her  husband,  to  propitiate  the  horrible  Re- 
public. I  saw  once  my  mother  in  agitation,  upon  read- 
ing a  newspaper — sobbing,  and  even  weeping  aloud; — 
she  read,  (and  set  me  to  weeping  too,)  the  account  of 
the  execution  of  this  queen.  It  is  the  farthest  remem- 
brance of  my  life,  and  I  am  now  standing  on  the  spot — 
on  the  very  spot  on  which  this  deed  was  perpetrated-— 
which  made  women  weep  in  their  huts  beyond  the  Alle- 
ghany !  With  the  manifold  faults  of  this  queen,  one  can- 
not, at  the  age  of  sober  reason,  look  upon  the  place  of 
her  execution,  and  think  over  her  hapless  fate,  without 
feeling  all  that  one  has  of  human  nature  melting  into 
compassion.  She  was  a  woman  whom  anything  of  a 
gentleman  would  love  with  all  her  faults.  Moreover, 
no  one  expects  queens,  in  the  intoxication  of  their  for- 
tunes, to  behave  like  sober  people.    Not  even  the  sound 

*  II  is  called  also  the  Place  de  la  Concord,  and  the  Place  Louis  XV. 


FINE  VIEW  OF  PARIS.  177 

and  temperate  head  of  Csesar  preserved  its  prudence  in 
this  kind  of  prosperity.  The  Guillotine  was  erected 
permanently  on  the  centre  of  this  Place,  and  was  fed 
with  cart  loads  at  a  time.  The  most  illustrious  of  its 
victims,  were  the  queen,  Louis  XVI.,  his  sister  Made- 
moiselle Elizabeth,  and  the  father  of  the  present  king. 
The  grass  does  not  grow  upon  the  guilty  place,  and  the 
Seine  flows  quickly  by  it. 

If  you  wish  to  have  the  finest  view  of  all  Paris — the 
finest,  perhaps,  of  all  Europe,  of  a  similar  kind— you 
must  stand  upon  the  centre  of  this  place ;  and  you  must 
hurry,  as  the  Obelisk  of  Luxor  has  just  arrived  from 
Egypt,  and  will  occupy  it  shortly.  Towards  the  east, 
you  have  spread  out  before  you  the  gardens  of  the 
Tuileries,  bordered  by  the  noble  colonnade  of  the  Rue 
Rivoli  and  the  Seine ; — towards  the  west  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  the  broad  walk  leading  gently  up  to  Napo- 
leon's arch,  which  stands  proudly  on  the  summit,  and 
«  helps  the  ambitious  hills  the  heavens  to  scale."  On 
the  north,  you  have  in  full  view,  through  the  Rue  Royale, 
the  superb  Madelaine,  on  the  side  of  its  most  brilliant 
sculpture;  and  in  symmetry  with  it,  the  noble  front  of 
the  Palais  Bourbon  on  the  south.  On  fine  evenings, 
and  days  of  parade,  you  will  see  from  the  Arch  to  the 
Palace,  about  two  miles,  a  moving  column  of  human 
beings  upon  the  side- walks;  and  innumerable  equipages, 
with  horses  proud  of  their  trappings,  and  lacqueys  of  their 
feathers,  meeting  and  crossing  each  other  upon  the  inter- 
vening roads ;  and  upon  the  area  of  the  Tuileries,  all 
that  which  animated  life  has  most  amiable  and  beauti- 
ful. You  will  see,  amidst  the  parterres  of  flowers,  and 
groups  of  oranges,  and  its  marble  divinities,  swans  swim- 
ming upon  the  silvery  lakes  ;  multitudes  of  children  at 
their  sports,  and  everywhere  ladies  and  their  cavaliers, 


178  OliKLISK  OF  LUXOU. 

in  all  the  colors  of  the  toilette,  sitting  or  standing,  or 
sauntering  about,  and  appearing  through  the  trees,  upon 
the  distant  terraces,  as  if  walking  upon  the  air.  All  this 
will  present  you  a  rich  and  variegated  tableau,  of  which 
prose  like  mine  can  give  you  no  reasonable  perception. 
The  great  obelisk,  which  is  to  stand  here,  is  now  lying 
upon  the  adjacent  wharf.  It  is  72  feet  high,  and  is  to 
be  raised  higher,  by  a  pedestal  of  20  feet.  It  is  a  single 
block  of  granite,  with  four  faces,  and  each  face  has  almost 
an  equal  share  of  the  magnificent  prospect  I  have  just 
tried  to  describe.  It  tapers  towards  the  top,  and  its  sides, 
older  than  the  alphabet,  are  embossed  with  a  variety  of 
curious  images.  Birds  are  singing,  rustics  laboring,  or 
playing  on  their  pipes,  sheep  are  bleating,  and  lambs 
skipping.  A  slave  is  on  his  knees,  and  a  Theban  gen- 
tleman recumbent  in  his  fauteuil ;  and  one  is  at  his  wine 
— he  who  "hob-a-nobbed  with  Pharaoh,  glass  to  glass, 
3000  years  ago." — The  men  are  in  caps,  a  third  their 
size ;  and  the  women  in  low  hoods,  like  a  chancellor's 
wig.  Little  did  the  miner  think,  who  dug  it  from  the 
quarry,  little  did  the  sculptor  think,  as  he  carved  these 
images  on  it,  and  how  little  did  Sesostris  think,  in  read- 
ing over  his  history  of  Paris,  that  it  would,  one  day, 
make  the  tour  of  Europe,  and  establish  itself  here  in  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde.  An  expensive  and  wearisome 
journey  it  has  had  of  it.  It  is  nine  years  since  it  stepped 
from  its  pedestal  at  Luxor.  It  was  a  good  notion  of 
Charles  X.,  but  not  original.  The  Emperor  Constantius 
brought  one,  the  largest  ever  known,  (150  feet  high,)  to 
Rome.  Two  magnificent  ones,  set  up  by  the  Doge 
Ziana,  adorn  the  Piazelta  of  St.  Mark's,  brought  from 
some  island  of  the  Archipelago.  The  French  army, 
captured  at  Alexandria  in  1801,  had  two  young  ones  on 
their  way  to  Paris,  which  fell,  poor  things  !  into  the  ra- 


ANCIENT  REGALIA.  179 

pacious  hands  of  the  British  Museum.  And  now  the 
English,  jealous  of  this  Luxoriqne  magnificence,  are 
going  to  bring  over  Cleopatra's  needle,  to  be  up  with 
them;  and  we  are  going  to  put  something  in  our  Wash- 
ington Square;  and  then  the  French,  some  of  these  days, 
will  bring  over  the  Pyramids. 

At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Royale  you  will  see  two 
palaces,  one  the  depot  of  fine  furniture  and  jewels,  the 
other  of  the  armor  of  the  crown.  Here  are  shields  that 
were  burnished  for  Cressy  and  Agincourt.  Here  is  the 
armor  of  Francis  when  made  prisoner  at  Pavia,  of  Henry 
■when  mortally  wounded  by  Montgomery  ;  complete  sets 
of  armor  of  Godfrey  de  Bouillon  and  Joan  of  Arc,  the 
sword  of  King  Cassimer,  and  that  of  the  holy  father 
Paul  V.  Spiders  are  now  weaving  their  webs  in  casques 
that  went  to  Jerusalem.  The  diamonds  of  the  crown 
deposited  here  before  the  Revolution  in  rubies,  topaz, 
emeralds,  sapphires,  amethysts,  &c,  were  7432  in  num- 
ber, amongst  which  were  the  famous  jewels  called  the 
Sanci  and  the  Regent,  so  notorious  in  the  history  of 
jewels ;  the  latter  has  figured  about  the  world  in  the 
king's  hats,  and  Napoleon's  sword.  An  antiquarian 
would  find  extreme  delight  in  this  room;  as  for  me  I 
scarce  know  which  is  Mambrino's  helmet,  and  which 
the  barber's  basin. 

I  had  no  sooner  quit  the  deputies  than  I  found  myself 
under  the  great  Hospital  of  the  Invalids,  whose  lofty 
and  gilded  dome  was  blazing  in  the  setting  sun.  Napo- 
leon put  up  this  gilding  to  amuse  gossiping  Paris  in  his 
Russian  defeats,  as  Alcibiades  to  divert  Athens  from  his 
worse  tricks  cut  off  his  dog's  tail ;  and  as  Miss  Kitty  to 
withdraw  a  more  dangerous  weapon  from  her  baby's 
hand,  gives  it  a  rattle.  3,800  soldiers  are  now  lodged  in 
this  Hospital,  or  rather  pieces  of  soldiers;  for  one  has  an 


ISO  HOSPITAL  OF  THE  INVALIDS. 

arm  at  Moscow,  another  a  leg  at  Algiers,  needing  no 
nourishment  from  the  state.  Here  is  one  whose  lower 
limbs  were  both  lost  at  the  taking  of  Paris.  He  seems 
very  happy.  He  saves  the  shoemaker's,  hosier's,  and  half 
the  tailor's  bill.  He  is  fat,  too,  and  healthy,  for  he  has 
the  same  rations  as  if  he  were  all  there.  If  I 'were  ex- 
pert at  logic,  I  would  prove  to  yon  that  this  piece  of  an 
individual  might  partly  eat  himself  up;  his  legs  being 
buried  in  the  suburbs,  and  he  dining  on  the  potatoes 
which  grow  there  ;  and  I  could  prove,  if  I  was  put  to  it, 
that  with  a  proper  assistance  from  cork,  he  might  be  run- 
ning about  town  with  his  legs  in  his  cheeks.  There  are 
two  sorts  of  historians,  one  confining  themselves  to  a  sim- 
ple narrative  of  facts  and  descriptions;  the  other  searching 
after  causes  and  effects,  and  accompanying  the  narrative 
with  moral  reflections.  I  belong  to  the  latter  class.  This 
hospital  was  planned  by  the  great  Henry;  the  great 
Louis  built  it,  and  it  was  furnished  with  lodgers  by  the 
great  Napoleon.  It  has  all  the  air  of  a  hospital ;  long 
ranges  of  rooms  and  chilling  corridors  ;  and  this  reunion 
of  mutilated  beings  is  a  horrid  spectacle !  They  lead 
a  kind  of  inactive,  lounging,  alms-house  existence.  How 
much  better  had  the  munificence  of  government  given 
to  each  his  allowance,  with  the  privilege  of  remaining 
with  his  friends  and  relations,  than  to  be  thus  cut  off 
from  all  the  charities  and  consolations  of  domestic  life, 
and  without  the  last,  best  consolation  of  afflicted  hu- 
manity, a  woman.  The  dome  is  magnificent  with  paint- 
ings, gildings,  carvings,  and  such  like  decorations.  The 
chapel,  the  most  splendid  part,  is  tapestried  with  flags 
taken  in  war  from  the  enemy.  What  an  emblem  in  a 
Christian  church  !  There  are  several  hundreds  yet  re- 
maining, notwithstanding  the  great  numbers  burnt,  to 
save  them  from  their  owners,  the  allies.    "  There  are 


THE  CHAMP  DE  MARS.  181 

some  here  from  all  countries,"  said  my  guide,  growing 
a  foot  taller.  "  Those  are  from  Africa  ;  those  from  Bel- 
gium ;  and  those  three  from  England."  When  I  asked 
him  to  show  me  those  from  America,  he  replied  with  a 
shrug — "cela  viendra,  monsieur" 

The  immense  plain  to  the  west  of  the  Invalids  and 
in  front  of  the  Ecole  Militaire,  is  the  Champ  de  Mars, 
the  rendezvous  of  horses  fleet  in  the  race,  and  cavalry 
to  be  trained  for  the  battle.  I  am  quite  vexed  that  I 
have  not  space  to  tell  you  of  the  great  Revolutionary 
fete  which  was  once  celebrated  in  this  very  place; 
how  the  ladies  of  the  first  rank  volunteered  and  worked 
with  their  own  dear  little  hands  to  put  up  the  scaffold- 
ing ;  and  how  the  king  was  brought  out  here  with  his 
white  and  venerable  locks  and  air  of  a  martyr,  and  the 
queen  her  eyes  swollen  with  weeping ;  their  last  appear- 
ance.but  one  !  before  the  people.  And  it  would  be  very 
gratifying  to  take  a  look  at  that  good  old  Revolutionary 
patriarch,  Talleyrand.  How  he  officiated  at  the  im- 
mense ceremony,  at  the  head  of  two  hundred  priests,  all 
habited  in  immaculate  white  surplices,  and  all  adorned 
with  tri-colored  scarfs,  and  then  how  the  holy  man 
blessed  the  new  standards  of  France,  and  consecrated 
the  eighty-three  banners  of  the  Departments.  I  wish 
to  write  all  this,  but  winged  time  will  not  wait  upon  my 
desires;  besides,  this  letter  is  already  the  longest  that 
was  ever  written  except  Paul's  to  the  Romans;  it  has 
as  many  curiosities,  too,  as  the  shield  of  Achilles.  -  The 
bridge  just  opposite  is  the  Pont  de  Jena.  The  allies 
were  about  to  destroy  it  on  account  of  its  name,  and 
put  gunpowder  under  it,  but  Louis  XVII].  would  not 
allow  it.  Le  jour  oil  vous  fercz  sauter  le  Pont  de 
Jena,  je  me  mctte  dessus  !  and  Bluclier  was  moved. 
vol.  i. — 16 


182  FAUBOURG  ST.   GERMAIN. 

This  bridge  is  the  end  of  my  letter  and  journey;  finis 
chartxquc  viseque. 

The  cholera,  the  devil  take  it,  has  got  into  Italy,  and 
I  shall  perhaps  lose  altogether  the  opportunity  of  a  visit 
to  that  country.  I  shall  not  kiss  the  feet  of  his  Holiness, 
nor  see  the  Rialto,  nor  the  Bridge  of  Sighs ;  nor  Venice 
and  her  gondolas,  nor  look  upon  the  venerable  Palace 
of  her  Doges.  Alas,  I  shall  not  linger  at  Virgil's  tomb  ! 
nor  swim  in  the  Tiber,  nor  taste  one  drop  of  thy  pure 
fountain,  Egeria  'nor  thine,  Fons  Blandusive  splcndi- 
dior  vitreo. 


LETTER    X. 

Faubourg  St.  Germain — Quartier  Latin — The  book-stalls — Phrenolo- 
gists— Dupuytren's  room — Medical  students— Lodgings — Bill  at  the 
Sorbonne — French  cookery — A  gentleman's  boarding-house — The 
locomotive  cook — Fruit — The  pension — The  landlady — Pleasure 
in  being  duped — Smile  of  a  French  landlady — The  boarding-house 
— Amiable  ladies — The  Luxembourg  gardens — The  grisettes — 
Their  naivete  and  simplicity — Americans  sent  to  Paris — Parisian 
morals — Advantages  in  visiting  old  countries — American  society 
in  Paris. 

Paris,  November  24th,  1835. 

Nearly  all  who  love  to  woo  the  silent  muses  are 

assembled  in  this  region,  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain. 

Here  are  the  libraries  bending  under  their  ponderous 

loads,  and  here  are  the  schools  and  colleges,  and  all  the 

*  . 

establishments  devoted  to  science  and  letters;  for  which 

reason  no  doubt  it  is  dignified  by  the  name  of  the  Quar- 
tier Latin.    When  the  west  of  the  river  was  yet  over- 


THE  BOOKSHOP.  183 

spread  with  its  forests,  this  quarter  was  covered  with 
houses  and  adorned  with  a  palace  and  amphitheatre, 
baths,  an  aqueduct,  and  a  "  Field  of  Mars"  for  the 
parade  of  the  Roman  troops — where  Julius  Ceesar  used 
to  make  them  shoulder  their  firelocks.  But  now,  though 
it  contains  a  fourth  of  the  population  of  the  town,  and 
retains  its  literary  character,  so  far  has  luxury  got  ahead 
of  Philosophy,  it  has  no  greater  dignity  of  name  than 
the  "Faubourgs."  It  stands  apart  as  if  the  city  of 
some  other  people.  Some  few,  indeed,  from  the  fashion- 
able districts,  in  a  desperate  Captain  Ross  kind  of  expedi- 
tion, do  sometimes  come  over  here,  and  have  got  back 
safe,  but  having  found  nothing  but  books  and  such  things 
of  little  interest,  it  remains  unexplored.  The  population 
has  become  new,  by  retaining  its  old  customs.  By 
standing  still,  it  shows  the  "  march  of  intellect"  through 
the  rest  of  the  city.  Here  you  see  yet  that  venerable 
old  man  who  wears  a  cue  and  powder,  and  buckles  his 
shoes,  and  calls  his  shop  a  boutique;  who  garters  up 
his  stockings  over  his  knees,  goes  to  bed  at  eight,  and 
snuffs  the  candle  with  his  fingers ;  and  you  see  every- 
where the  innumerable  people,  clattering  through  the 
muddy  and  narrow  lanes  in  their  sabots.  Poverty,  not 
being  able  to  get  lodgings  in  the  Rue  Rivoli,  the  Palais 
Royal,  and,  though  she  tried  hard,  in  the  Boulevards, 
has  been  obliged,  on  account  of  the  cheap  rents,  to  come 
over  here  and  to  strike  up  a  sort  of  partnership  with 
science,  and  they  now  carry  on  various  kinds  of  indus- 
try, under  the  firm  of  Misere  et  Compagnie. 

In  the  central  section  of  this  Latin  country,  the  staple 
is  the  bookshop.  Everywhere  you  will  see  the  little 
store  embossed  with  its  innumerable  volumes  inside  out, 
on  the  ceilings,  on  the  floor,  and  on  the  screens  through- 
out the  room,  leaving  just  a  space  for  a  little  bookseller ; 


1S4  ANATOMICAL  APPEARANCES. 

and  stalls  are  covered  with  the  same  article  in  the  open 
air,  in  all  those  positions,  where,  in  other  towns,  yon  find 
mutton  and  fat  beef.  When  you  see  a  long  file  of  Insti- 
tutes, and  Bartholos,  and  Cnjasses,  wrapped  in  their  yel- 
low parchment,  you  are  near  the  Temple  of  Themis  — 
the  Ecole  des  Lois.  When  you  see,  in  descending  St. 
Jacques,  a  morose,  surly,  bibliomaniacal  little  man,  en- 
trenched behind  a  Homer,  a  Horace,  and  a  Euclid's  Ele- 
ments, that  is  the  College  de  France;  and  when  you 
stumble  over  a  pile  of  the  Martyrs,  it  is  the  Sorbonne; 
as  you  approach  the  Ecole  Medecine,  five  hundred  Bi- 
chats  and  Richerands  beckon  you  to  its  threshold. — 
Besides,  you  will  see  ladies  and  gentlemen  looking  out 
from  the  neighboring  windows,  and  recommending  them- 
selves in  their  various  anatomical  appearances  ;  en  sqnel- 
lette,  or  half  dissected,  or  turned  wrong  side  out.  There 
is  a  shop,  too,  of  phrenological  skulls,  and  a  lady  who 
will  explain  you  the  bumps;  and  if  you  like,  you  can 
get  yourself  felt  for  a  franc  or  two,  and  she  will  tell  you 
where  is  your  P hi lo-pro— what  do  you  call  it  ?  She 
told  me  our  intellectual  qualities  were  placed  in  front, 
and  the  sensual  in  the  back  part  of  the  skull,  very  hap- 
pily, because  the  former  could  look  out  ahead,  and  keep 
the  latter  in  order.  And  next  door  is  a  shop  of  all  the 
wax  preparations  of  human  forms,  and  diseases,  and 
here  is  another  lady  who  will  point  you  out  their  resem- 
blances with  originals,  who  will  analyze  you  a  man  into 
all  his  component  parts,  and  put  him  up  again  ;  and  she 
puts  up,  also,  "  magnificent  skeletons,"  and  mannikins 
for  foreign  countries.  Now  and  then  you  will  see  arrive 
a  cart,  which  pours  out  a  dozen  or  so  of  naked  men  and 
women,  as  you  do  a  cord  of  wood  upon  the  pavement, 
which  are  distributed  into  the  dissecting  rooms,  after  the 
ladies  and  gentlemen  standing  about  have  sufficiently 


CAFE  AU  LAIT.  185 

entertained  themselves  with  the  spectacle.  And  just 
step  into  "  Dupuytren's  Room,"  and  you  will  see  all  the 
human  diseases,  arranged  beautifully  in  families ;  here 
is  the  plague,  and  there  is  the  cholera  morbus ;  here  is 
the  gout,  and  there  is  the  palsy  staring  you  in  the  face ; 
and  there  are  whole  cabinets  of  sprained  ankles,  broken 
legs,  dislocated  shoulders,  and  cracked  skulls.  In  a  word, 
everything  is  literary  in  this  quarter.  One  evening  you 
are  invited  to  a  party  for  squaring  the  circle,  another  for 
finding  out  the  longitude  ;  and  another  :  "  My  dear  sir, 
come  this  evening  ;  we  have  just  got  in  a  subject.  The 
autopsis  will  begin  at  six." 

The  medical  students  are  about  four  thousand;  those 
of  law  and  theology  about  the  same  number;  and  many 
a  one  of  these  students  lodges,  eats  and  clothes  himself, 
and  keeps  his  sweetheart  all  for  twelve  dollars  per 
month.  With  the  exception  of  the  last  named  article,  I 
am  living  a  kind  of  student's  life.  I  have  a  room  twenty 
feet  square,  overlooking  from  the  second  story,  the  beau- 
tiful garden  of  Luxembourg,  and  the  great  gate  opening 
from  the  Rue  d'Enfer.  This  is  my  parlor  during  the 
day,  and  a  cabinet  having  a  bed,  and  opening  into  it, 
converts  the  two  into  a  bed-chamber  for  the  night ;  and 
the  price  including  services,  is  eight  dollars  per  month. 
I  find  at  ten  a  small  table  covered  with  white  porcelain, 
and  a  very  neat  little  Frenchwoman  comes  smiling  in 
with  a  coffee-pot  in  one  hand  and  a  pitcher  of  boiling 
milk  in  the  other,  and  pours  me  out  with  her  rosy  fingers 
a  large  cup  of  the  best  ca/6  an  lait  in  the  world,  and  sits 
down  herself,  and  descants  fluently  on  the  manners  and 
customs  of  the  capital,  and  improves  my  facilities  in 
French.  If  you  wish  bad  coffee,  it  is  not  to  be  had  in 
this  country.  The  accompaniments  are  two  eggs,  or 
some  equivalent  relish,  a  piece  of  fresh  butter,  and  a 

16* 


186  DINNER  AT  THE  SORBONNE. 

small  loaf  of  bread — all  this  for  eighteen  sous,  (a  sous  is 
a  twentieth  less  than  our  cent.)  1  dine  out  wherever  I 
may  chance  to  be,  and  according  to  the  voracity  or  tem- 
perance of  my  appetites,  from  one  and  a  half  to  five 
francs  at  six  o'clock.  A  French  dinner  comes  at  the 
most  sociable  hour,  when  the  cares  and  labors  of  the 
day  are  past,  and  the  mind  can  give  itself  up  entirely  to 
its  enjoyments,  or  its  repose. 

I  have  dined  sometimes  at  the  illustrious  Flicoteau's, 
on  the  Place  Sorbonne,  with  the  medical  students,  and 
have  looked  upon  the  rooms  once  occupied  by  J.  Jacques 
Rousseau,  and  upon  the  very  dial  on  which  he  could 
not  teach  Therese,  his  grisette  wife,  to  count  the  hours. 
I  have  dined,  too,  at  Viot's,  with  the  law  students,  and 
have  taken  coffee,  with  Moliere,  and  Fontinelle,  and 
Voltaire,  at  the  Procope.  The  following  is  a  bill  at  the 
Sorbonne. 


A  service  of  Soup, 

3  sous, 

Vegetables, 

3     « 

Meat, 

6     " 

Fish, 

6     " 

Bread, 

2     " 

20 

You  have,  also,  which  serves  at  once  for  vinegar  and 
wine,  a  half  bottle  of  claret,  at  six  sous;  and  a  dessert, 
a  bunch  of  grapes  or  three  cherries,  for  two  ;  or  of  sweet- 
meats, a  most  delicate  portion — one  of  those  infinitesi- 
mals of  a  dose,  such  as  the  Homceopathists  administer 
in  desperate  cases.  Yet  this — if  a  dish  were  only  what 
it  professes  to  be  on  its  face,  the  soup,  not  the  rinsings 
of  the  dishcloth,  the  fricassee  not  poached  upon  the  swill- 
tub — this  would  still  be  supportable— if  a  macaroni  were 


FRENCH  COOKERY.  187 

only  a  macaroni;  which,  in  a  cheap  Paris  fare,  I  under- 
stand, is  not  to  be  presumed.  In  sober  sadness,  this  is 
very  bad.  We  have  a  right  to  expect  that  a  thing  which 
calls  itself  a  hare,  should  not  be  a  cat.  But,  alas  !  it  is  the 
end  of  all  human  refinement,  that  hypocrisy  should  take 
the  place  of  truth.  You  can  discern  no  better  the  com- 
ponent parts  of  a  French  dish,  in  a  French  cookery,  than 
you  can  a  virtue  in  a  condiment  of -French  affability. 

But .     It  is  an  homage  which  a  horse's  rump 

renders  to  a  beefsteak.  At  my  last  dinner  here  I  had 
two  little  ribs,  held  together  in  indissoluble  matrimony,  of 
mutton.  I  tried  to  divorce  them,  but  to  no  purpose,  till 
the  perspiration  began  to  flow  abundantly.  I  called  the 
"  gargon,"  and  exhibited  to  him  their  toughness. — "  Ce- 
pendant,  Monsieur,  le  mouton  it  ait  v^agniJique!,,  I 
offered  him  five  francs  if  he  would  sit  down  and  eat  it; 
he  refused.  He  had,  perhaps,  a  mother  or  some  poor  re- 
lation depending  on  him.  I  did  not  insist.  M.  Flicoteau 
belongs  to  the  romantic  school.  I  prefer  the  classical.  I 
need  hardly  say,  that  the  French  students  who  dine 
here,  have  an  unhealthy  and  shriveled  appearance — you 
recollect  the^last  run  of  the  shad  on  the  Juniata.  It  is 
the  very  spot  in  which  the  Sorbonne  used  to  starve  its 
monks  for  the  sake  of  the  Lord,  and  M.  Flicoteau,  for 
his  own  sake,  keeps  starving  people  here  ever  since  ? 
Sixteen  sous  is  a  student's  ordinary  dinner.  His  com- 
mon allowance  for  clothing,  and  other  expenses  by  the 
year,  is  three  hundred  dollars.  He  eats  for  a  hundred, 
lodges  for  fifty,  and  has  the  remainder  for  his  wardrobe, 
and  amusements.  The  students  of  medicine  are  mostly 
poor  and  laborious,  and  being  obliged  to  follow  their 
filthy  occupation  of  dissecting,  are  negligent  of  dress  and 
manners.  The  disciples  of  the  law  are  more  of  the  rich 
classes,  have  idle  time,  keep  better  company,  and  have 


188  THE  GARGOTTE. 

an  air  plus  distingue.  The  doctors  of  law  in  all  coun- 
tries take  rank  above  medicine.  The  question  of  prece- 
dence, I  recollect,  was  determined  by  the  Dnke  of  Man- 
tua's fool,  who  observed  that  the  "rogue  always  walks 
ahead  of  the  executioner." — Theology,  alas  !  hides  her 
head  in  a  peaceful  corner  of  the  Sorbonne,  where  once 
she  domineered,  and  begs  to  be  unnoticed  in  her  humble 
and  abject  fortunes.  A  student  of  Divinity  eats  a  soup 
maigre,  a  riz-au-lait,  flanked  by  a  dessert  of  sour  grapes. 
His  meals  would  take  him  to  Heaven  if  he  had  no  other 
merits. 

The  other  resorts  of  eating,  besides  the  restaurants, 
are  as  follows  :  the  Gargotte,  the  Cuisine  Bourgeoise, 
and,  of  a  higher  grade,  the  Pension  Bourgeoise.  In 
the  Gargotte  you  don't  get  partridges. — Your  dinner 
costs  seven  sous.  You  have  a  little  meat,  dry  and  some- 
what stringy,  veal  or  mutton,  whichever  Monsieur 
pleases. — Whether  it  died  the  natural  way,  or  a  violent 
death  by  the  hands  of  the  butcher,  it  is  impossible  to 
know.  You  have,  besides,  a  thick  soup,  a  loaf  of  bread 
three  feet  long,  standing  in  the  corner  by  the  broom,  and 
fried  potatoes ;  also  water  and  the  servant  girl  h  discre- 
tion. At  seventeen  sous,  you  have  all  the  aforesaid 
delicacies,  with  a  table  cloth  into  the  bargain ;  and  at 
twenty,  the  luxurious  addition  of  a  napkin,  and  a  fork 
of  Algiers  metal. — This  is  the  Gargotte.  When  you 
have  got  to  twenty-five  sous,  you  are  in  the  Cuisine 
Bourgeoise.  Here  your  "  convert"  consists  of  a  spoon, 
a  fork,  a  knife,  a  napkin,  a  glass,  and  a  small  bottle, 
called  a  caraffon ;  your  plate  is  changed — already  a  step 
towards  civilization ;  and  you  have  a  cucumber  a  foot 
long,  radishes  a  little  withered,  asparagus  just  getting 
to  seed,  and  salt  and  pepper,  artistically  arranged  ;  and 
a  horse's  rump  cooked  into  a  beefsteak,  and  washed 


RESORTS  OF  EATING.  189 

clown  with  "  veritable  macon" — that  is,  the  best  sort 
of  logwood  alcoholized.  You  have,  also,  a  little  dessert 
here  of  sour  grapes,  wrinkled  apricots,  or  green  figs, 
which  are  exhibited  for  sale,  at  the  window,  between 
meals.  The  flaps  of  mutton  and  the  drum-sticks  of 
turkeys,  which  you  get  so  tender,  have  been  served  up, 
once  or  twice,  at  the  Hotel  Ordinary;,  but  they  are  pre- 
ferred much  to  the  original  dishes.  One  likes  sometimes 
better  Ephraim's  gleanings,  than  Abiezer's  vintage. 
The  French  have  a  knack  of  letting  nothing  go  to  loss. 
Why  they  make  more  of  a  dead  horse  or  cow  than 
others  of  the  living  ones.  They  do  not  even  waste  the 
putrid  offals  of  the  butcheries ;  they  sell  the  maggots  to 
feed  chickens.— But  when  you  pay  forty  sous,  that's 
quite  another  affair.  You  are  now  in  the  monde  goar- 
mande.  Spinage  has  butter  in  it;  custards  have  sugar 
in  them;  soup  is  called  potage ; — everything  now  has 
an  honest  name ;  bouilli  is  boenf  a  la  mode  ;  fried  pota- 
toes, pomme  de  terre  a  la  mentre  d'hbtel ;  and  a  baked 
cat  is,  lapin  saute  a  Vestragon. — This  is  the  gentle- 
man's boarding-house.  I  mean  by  gentleman,  a  youth, 
who  has  just  come  over  from  England  or  America,  to 
the  lectures,  or  a  French  clerk  of  the  corps  bureau-cra- 
tique,  or  an  apprentice  philosopher,  who  calls  himself  a 
"  man  of  letters."  It  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  this 
place,  that  you  are  not  often  oppressed  by  the  intelli- 
gence and  gravity  of  your  convives,  and  have  a  chance 
of  shining.  It  is  in  the  power  of  any  man  to  have  wit, 
if  he  but  knows  how  to  select  his  company.  In  this 
pension  the  dishes  succeed  one  another,  and  are  not 
crammed,  as  in  our  tables  roti  fricandeau,  salade,  vol 
au  vent — all  into  the  same  service,  to  distract  and  pall 
the  appetite,  or  get  cold  waiting  on  each  other.  The 
coquetry  of  a  French  kitchen  keeps  alive  expectation, 


190  SUCCESSION  OF  DISI1KS. 

and  enhances  enjoyment  by  surprise.  You  have  here, 
too,  the  advantage  of  a  male  cook;  the  kitchen  prefers 
the  masculine  to  the  feminine,  like  the  grammars;  and, 
besides,  you  have  the  tranquillity  of  a  private  house.  If 
you  ask  a  dish  at  Flicoteau's,  the  waiter  balls  it  down 
to  the  kitchen,  and  as  they  are  continually  asking,  he 
is  continually  bawling.  At  the  end  of  the  feast,  you 
will  see,  standing  before  you,  a  tumbler  full  of  tooth 
picks,  one  of  which  you  will  keep  fumbling  in  your 
mouth,  the  whole  afternoon,  as  an  evidence  you  have 
dined,  and  especially  if  you  have  not  dined — for  then 
you  must  keep  up  appearances; — some  grease  their 
mouths  with  a  candle,  and  then  you  think  they  have 
been  eating  pate  defoie  gras. 

I  am  sorry  to  have  forgotten  the  locomotive  cook; 
I  mean  a  woman  with  an  appareil  de  cuisine  about 
her  neck,  having  meat  and  fish  hung,  by  hooks,  on 
both  her  haunches,  and  sausages,  or  fish,  or  potatoes 
hissing  in  a  frying-pan ;  and  diffusing,  for  twenty 
yards  around,  a  most  appetizing  flavor. — She  haunts 
usually  the  Pont  Neuf,  and  its  vicinity,  and  looks  like 
gastronomy  personified.  She  will  give  you  for  four 
sous,  of  potatoes,  with  yesterday's  gazette,  and  reclin- 
ing under  the  parapet  of  the  Quai — the  king,  perhaps, 
all  the  while,  envying  you  from  the  heights  of  the 
Louvre — you  eat  a  wholesomer  dinner,  at  ten  sous,  than 
the  Place  Sorbonne  at  twenty-four. 

All  the  common  world  of  Paris  buys  its  provisions 
second  handed.  The  farmer  arrives  about  two  in  the 
morning — he  sells  out  to  the  hucksters,  and  these  latter  to 
the  public:  mixing  in  the  leavings  of  the  preceding  day, 
a  rotten  egg  with  a  fresh  one,  &c.  A  patient  old  woman, 
having  nothing  else  to  do,  speculates  over  a  bushel  of 
potatoes,  or  a  botte  of  onions,  twice  twenty-four  hours; 


SOLITUDE  OF  A  POPULOUS  CITY.  191 

and  your  milk  woman,  perhaps,  never  saw  a  cow  ;  cows 
are  expensive  in  slops  and  provender ;  and  snails  and 
plaster  of  Paris  are  to  be  had  almost  for  nothing.  The 
French  eat  greater  quantities  of  bread  than  their  neigh- 
bors— and  why  at  a  cheaper  rate  ? — The  price  is  fixed, 
by  police,  every  fortnight,  and  its  average  is  two  and  a 
half  cents — sixty  per  cent,  lower  than  in  London  ;  and 
how  much  lower  than  with  us?  450  millions  of  lbs.  are 
consumed  in  Paris  annually ;  each  man  eating  twelve 
dollars  worth.  If  you  establish  a  Frenchman's  expense 
at  100  you  will  find  19  parts  for  bread,  22  for  meat, 
27  for  wine  and  spirits.  Peaches  and  apples,  and 
melons  are  not  to  be  spoken  of,  in  comparison  with  ours  : 
but  cherries,  plums,  and  especially  pears,  are  in  great 
variety  and  abundance ;  and  the  fine  grapes  of  Fontain- 
bleau  are  eight  cents  per  pound.  In  England,  they 
have  all  the  fruits  of  the  Indies  in  the  nobleman's  hot 
houses  ;  but  who  can  buy  them  ?  There  are  men  there 
who  have  the  conscience  to  pay  £150  for  the  fruits  of 
a  breakfast.  "  The  strawberries  at  my  Lady  Stormont's, 
last  Saturday,  cost  £150,"  says  Hannah  More.  But  I 
must  bridle  in  my  muse  ;  she  is  getting  a  fit  of  statistics. 
If  a  gentleman  comes  to  Paris  in  the  dog  days,  when 
his  countrymen  are  spread  over  Europe,  at  watering 
places,  and  elsewhere,  and  when  every  soul  of  a  French- 
man is  out  of  town — if  he  is  used  to  love  his  friends  at 
home,  and  be  loved  by  them,  and  to  see  them  gather 
around  him  in  the  evenings — let  him  not  set  a  foot  in 
that  unnatural  thing,  a  bachelor's  apartment  in  a  fur- 
nished hotel,  to  live  alone,  to  eat  alone,  and  to  sleep 
alone  !  If  he  does,  let  him  take  leave  of  his  wife  and 
children  and  settle  up  his  affairs.  Nor  let  him  seek 
company  at  the  Tavern  Ordinary  ;  here  the  guest  arrives 
just  at  the  hour,  hangs  up  his  hat,  sits  down  in  his  usual 


192  FAMILY  REUNIONS. 

place,  crosses  his  legs,  runs  his  fingers  through  his  hair, 
dines,  and  then  disappears,  all  the  year  round,  without 
farther  acquaintance.  But  let  him  look  out  a  "  Pension," 
having  an  amiable  landlady,  or,  which  is  the  same, 
amiable  lodgers.  He  will  become  domiciliated  here 
after  some  time,  and  find  some  relief  from  one  of  the 
trying  situations  of  life.  You  know  nothing  yet,  hap- 
pily, of  the  solitude,  the  desolation  of  a  populous  city  to 
a  stranger.  How  often  did  I  wish,  during  the  first  three 
months,  for  a  cot  by  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill  of  the 
Mahonoy.  Go  to  a  "  Pension,"  especially  if  you  are  a 
sucking  child,  like  me,  in  the  ways  of  the  world  ;  and 
the  lady  of  the  house,  usually  a  pretty  woman,  will  feel 
it  enjoined  upon  her  humanity  to  counsel  and  protect 
you,  and  comfort  you,  or  she  will  manage  an  acquaint- 
ance between  you  and  some  countess  or  baroness,  who 
lodges  with  her,  or  at  some  neighbor's.  I  live  now 
with  a  most  spiritual  little  creature ;  she  tells  me  so 
many  obliging  lies,  and  no  offensive  truths,  which  I 
take  to  be  the  perfection  of  politeness  in  a  landlady  ;  and 
she  admits  me'to  her  private  parties — little  family  "  re- 
unions"— where  I  play  at  loto  with  Madame  Thomas, 
and  her  three  amiable  daughters,  just  for  a  little  cider, 
cakes,  or  chestnuts,  to  keep  up  the  spirit  of  the  play; 
and  then  we  have  a  song,  a  solo  on  the  violin,  or  harp, 
and  then  a  dance ;  and  finally,  we  play  at  little  games, 
which  inflict  kisses,  embraces,  and  other  such  penalties. 
French  people  are  always  so  merry,  whatever  be  the 
amusement ;  they  never  let  conversation  flag,  and  I 
don't  see  any  reason  it  should.  One,  for  example,  be- 
gins to  talk  of  Paris,  then  the  Passage  Panorama,  then 
of  Mrs.  Alexander's  fine  cakes,  and  then  the  pretty  girl 
that  sits  behind  the  counter,  and  then  of  pretty  girls  that 
sit  anywhere  ;  and  so  one,  just  lets  one's  self  run  with 


THE  FRENCH  LANDLADY.  193 

the  association  of  ideas,  or  one  makes  a  digression 
from  the  main  story,  and  returns  or  not,  just  as  one 
pleases.  A  Frenchman  is  always  a  mimic,  an  actor ; 
and  all  that  nonsense  which  we  suffer  to  go  to  waste  in 
our  country,  he  economizes  for  the  enjoyment  of  society. 
I  am  settled  down  in  the  family;  I  am  adopted  ;  the 
lady  gives  me,  to  he  sure,  now  and  then  "  a  chance,"  as 
she  calls  it,  of  a  ticket  in  a  lottery  ("  the  only  one  left") 
of  some  distinguished  lady  now  reduced,  or  some  lady 
who  has  had  three  children,  and  is  likely  for  the  fourth, 
where  one  never  draws  anything ;  or  "a  chance"  of  con- 
ducting her  and  a  pretty  cousin  of  hers,  who  has  taken 
a  fancy  to  me,  who  adores  the  innocency  of  American 
manners,  and  hates  the  dissipation  of  the  French,  to  the 
play.  Have  you  never  felt  the  pleasure  of  letting  your- 
self be  duped  ?  Have  you  never  felt  the  pleasure  of  let- 
ting your  little  bark  float  clown  the  stream  when  you 
knew  the  port  lay  the  other  way  ?  1  look  upon  all  this 
as  a  cheap  return  for  the  kindnesses  I  have  so  much 
need  off;  I  am  anxious  to  be  cheated,  and  the  truth  is, 
if  you  do  not  let  a  French  landlady  cheat  you  now  and 
then,  she  will  drop  your  acquaintance.  Never  dispute 
any  small  items  overcharged  in  her  monthly  bill ;  or  she 
that  was  smooth  as  the  ermine  will  be  suddenly  bristled 
as  the  porcupine ;  and  why,  for  the  sake  of  limiting 
some  petty  encroachment  upon  your  purse,  should  you 
turn  the  bright  heaven  of  her  pretty  face  into  a  hurri- 
cane ?  Your  actions  should  always  leave  a  suspicion 
you  are  rich,  and  then  you  are  sure  she  will  anticipate 
every  want  and  wish  you  may  have  with  the  liveliest 
affection  ;  she  will  be  all  ravishment  at  your  successes  ; 
she  will  be  in  an  abyss  of  chagrin  at  your  disappoint- 
ments. "  Helas!  oh,  mon  Dieu!"  and  if  you  cry,  she  will 
cry  with  you  !  We  love  money  well  enough  in  Ame- 
vol.  i.— 17 


194  MANNER  OF  GAINING  ATTENTIONS. 

rica,  but  we  do  not  feel  such  touches  of  human  kindness, 
and  cannot  work  ourselves  up  into  such  fits  of  amiable- 
ness,  for  those  who  have  it.  I  do  not  say  it  is  hypocrisy ; 
a  French  woman  really  does  love  you  if  you  have  a  long 
purse  ;  and  if  you  have  not,  (I  do  not  say  it  is  hypocrisy 
neither,)  she  really  does  hate  you. 

A  great  advantage  to  a  French  landlady  is  the  sweet- 
ness and  variety  of  her  smile  ;  a  quality  in  which  French 
women  excel  universally.  Our  Madame  Gibou  keeps 
her  little  artillery  at  play  during  the  whole  of  the  dinner 
time,  and  has  brought  her  smile  under  such  a  discipline 
as  to  suit  it  exactly  to  the  passion  to  be  represented,  or 
the  dignity  of  the  person  with  whom  she  exchanges 
looks.  You  can  tell  any  one  who  is  in  arrears  as  if  you 
were  her  private  secretary,  or  the  wealth  and  liberality 
of  a  guest  better  than  his  banker,  by  her  smile.  If  it  be 
a  surly  knave,  who  counts  the  pennies  with  her,  the  lit- 
tle thing  is  strangled  in  its  birth,  and  if  one  who  owes 
his  meals,  it  miscarries  altogether ;  and  for  a  mere  visitor 
she  lets  off  one  worth  only  three  francs  and  a  half;  but 
if  a  favorite,  who  never  looks  into  the  particulars  of  her 
bill  and  takes  her  lottery  tickets,  then  you  will  see  the 
whole  heaven  of  her  face  in  a  blaze,  and  it  does  not 
expire  suddenly,  but  like  the  fine  twilight  of  a  summer 
evening,  dies  away  gently  on  her  lips.  Sometimes  I  have 
seen  one  flash  out  like  a  squib,  and  leave  you  at  once  in 
the  dark  ;  it  had  lit  on  the  wrong  person  ;  and  at  other 
times  I  have  seen  one  struggling  long  for  its  life ;  I  have 
watched  it  while  it  was  gasping  its  last ;  she  has  a  way 
too  of  knocking  a  smile  on  the  head ;  I  observed  one  at 
dinner  to-day,  from  the  very  height  and  bloom  of  health 
fall  down  and  die  without  a  kick. 

It  is  strange  (that  I  may  praise  myself) — but  I  have  a 
share  of  attention  in  this  little  circle  even  greater  than 


AFFABILITY.  195 

they  who  are  amiable.  If  1  say  not  a  word,  I  am  witty, 
and  I  am  excessively  agreeable  by  sitting  still.  "  The 
silence  often  of  pure  innocence  persuades  when  speaking 
fails."  My  acquaintance  with  life  and  wickedness  puts 
me  in  immediate  rapport  with  women,  and  removes 
many  of  the  little  obstacles  which  suspicious  etiquette 
has  set  up  between  the  sexes.  Ladies,  they  say,  never 
blush  when  talking  to  a  blind  man.  While  a  man  of 
address  is  sailing  about  and  about  a  woman,  as  Captain 
Ross,  hunting  the  Northwest  Passage,  I  am  looked  upon 
either  as  a  ship  in  distress  and  claiming  a  generous  sym- 
pathy and  protection,  or  a  prize  which  belongs  to  the 
wreckers,  and  am  towed  at  once  into  harbor.  Some- 
times, indeed,  my  ignorance  of  Paris  and  its  ways,  is 
taken  for  affectation,  and  they  suspect  me  for  behaving 
as  great  ambassadors,  who  affect  simplicity  to  hide  their 
diplomatic  rogueries ;  but  he  cannot  long  pass  himself 
for  a  rogue,  who  is  really  honest.  It  is  perhaps  mere 
complexion  or  physiognomy.  I  see,  every  day,  faces 
which  remind  one  of  those  doors  which  have  written  on 
them  "  No  Admission,"  and  others,  "Walk  in  without 
knocking."  It  is  certain  that  what  we  call  dignity, 
however  admired  on  parade,  is  not  a  good  social  quality. 
"  Dignitas  et  amor" — I  forget  what  Ovid  says  about  it. 
And  women  too  are  more  familiar  and  easy  of  access  to 
modesty  of  rank.  Jupiter,  you  know,  when  he  made 
love  to  Antiope  with  all  his  rays  about  him,  was  rejected, 
and  he  succeeded  afterwards  as  a  satyr.  I  knew  a 
pretty  American  woman  once,  who,  gartering  up  her 
stockings  in  the  garden,  was  reminded  that  the  gardener 
was  looking:  "  Well !  he  is  only  a  working  man,"  she 
replied,  and  went  on  with  the  exhibition;  she  would 
have  been  frightened  to  death  had  it  been  a  lord.  I 
make  these  remarks  because  other  travelers  would  be 


196  THE  BOARDING-HOUSE. 

likely  to  leave  them  out,  and  because  it  is  good  to  know 
how  to  live  to  advantage  in  all  the  various  circumstances 
of  life. 

In  recommending  you  a  French  boarding-house,  it  is 
my  duty  at  the  same  time  to  warn  you  of  some  of  its 
dangers,  which  are  as  follows:  Your  landlady  will  be 
in  arrears  for  her  rent  200  francs,  and  will  confide  to  you 
her  embarrassment.  Having  a  rigid,  inexorable  pro- 
prietaire,  and  getting  into  an  emergency,  she  will  at 
length  ask  you  with  many  blushes  and  amiable  scruples 
the  loan  of  the  said  money ;  and  her  gratitude,  poor 
thing !  at  the  very  expectation  of  getting  it,  will  over- 
come her  so — she  will  offer  you,  her  arms  about  your 
neck,  her  pretty  self,  as  security  for  the  debt.  This  is 
not  all;  the  baroness  (her  husband  being  absent  at  Mos- 
cow or  anywhere  else)  will  invite  you  to  a  supper.  She 
will  live  in  a  fine  parlor,  chambers  adjoining,  and  will 
entertain  you  with  sprightly  and  sensible  conversation 
and  all  the  delicacies  of  the  table  until  the  stars  have 
climbed  halfway  up  the  heavens;  and  you  will  find  your- 
self tete-h-tele  with  the  lady  at  midnight,  the  third  bot- 
tle of  champagne  sparkling  on  the  board.  I  am  glad  1 
did  not  leave  my  virtue  in  America ;  I  should  have  had 
such  need  of  it  in  this  country  !  Indeed  if  it  had  been 
anybody  else,  not  softened  by  the  experience  of  nine 
lustrums ; — not  fortified,  like  me,  by  other  affections — if 
it  had  been  anybody  else  in  the  world,  he  would  have 
been  ruined  by  Madame  la  Bardnne.  Nor  when  you 
have  resisted  Russia,  have  you  won  all  the  victories.  On 
a  fine  summer's  morning,  when  all  joyous  and  good- 
humored,  your  landlady  will  present  you  the  following 
cards,  with  notes  and  explanations.  "  This  is  from  the 
belle  Gabrielle.  She  assists  her  uncle  in  the  store,  and 
is  quite  disheartened  with  her  business.   Uncles  are  such 


GARDEN  OF  THE  LUXEMBOURG.  197 

cross  things  !— This  is  from  one  of  my  acquaintances, 
Flora — oh,  beautiful  au possible!  She  paints  birds  and 
other  objects  for  the  print  shops,  but  she  finds  the  confine- 
ment injurious  to  her  health.  Both  these  young  ladies 
have  signified  in  great  confidence — I  never  would  have 
guessed  it ! — that  they  would  be  willing  to  form  an  in- 
timacy (a  liaison)  with  some  American  gentleman, 
whom  I  might  recommend.  Here  are  their  cards.  You 
must  call  and  see  them,  especially  Flora  ;  she  has  such  a 
variety  of  talents  besides  painting;  and  she  will  give  you 
the  most  convincing  proofs  of  good  character  and  con- 
nections. Gabrielle  also  is  very  pretty,  but  she  is  a  young 
and  innocent  creature,  and  her  education,  especially  her 
music,  not  so  far  advanced." 

The  garden  of  the  Luxembourg  comes  next.  It  con- 
tains near  a  hundred  acres,  and  lies  in  the  midst  of  this 
classical  district.  It  is  not  so  gayly  ornamented  as  the 
Tuileries,  but  is  rich  in  picturesque  and  rural  scenery.  It 
has,  indeed,  two  very  beautiful  ornaments.  At  the  north 
end  the  noble  edifice  constructed  by  Marie  de  Medicis, 
the  palace  of  Luxembourg,  which  contains  a  gallery  of 
paintings,  the  chamber  of  Peers,  and  other  curiosities ; 
and  the  Observatory,  a  stately  builing,  is  in  symmetry 
with  this  palace  on  the  south.  In  the  interior  there  are 
groves  of  trees  and  grass  plots  surrounded  by  flower 
beds;  and  numerous  statues,  most  of  which  have  seen 
better  days ;  ranges  of  trees,  and  an  octagonal  piece  of 
water  inhabited  by  two  swans,  which  are  now  swimming 
about  in  graceful  solemnity,  adorn  the  parterre  in  front 
of  the  palace.  All  these  objects  I  have  in  view  from  my 
windows.  The  garden  has  altogether  an  air  of  philo- 
sophy very  grateful  to  men  of  studious  dispositions. 
Many  persons  are  seated  about  in  reading  or  conversa- 
tion, or  strolling  with  books  through  its  groves,  and 

17* 


198  VETERANS  OF  THE  WAR. 

squads  of  students  arc  now  and  then  traversing  it  to 
their  college  recitations.  On  benches  overlooking  the 
parterre  is  seated  all  day  long,  the  veteran  of  the  war, 
the  old  soldier,  in  his  regimentals,  his  sword  as  a  com- 
panion laid  beside  him  on  the  bench ;  he  finds  a  repose 
here  for  his  old  age  amidst  the  recreations  of  childhood  ; 
and  five  or  six  hundred  little  men  in  red  breeches,  whose 
profession  it  is  to  have  their  brains  knocked  out  for  their 
country  at  sixpence  a  day,  are  drilled  here  every 
morning  early,  to  keep  step  and  to  handle  their  fire- 
locks. There  is  one  corner  in  which  there  is  a  fountain 
surmounted  by  a  nymph,  and  which  has  a  gloomy  and 
tufted  wood,  and  an  appearance  of  sanctity  which  makes 
it  respected  by  the  common  world,  and  by  the  sun.  One 
man  only  is  seen  walking  there  at  a  time,  the  rest  retiring 
out  of  respect  for  his  devotions.  Since  a  week  it  is 
frequented  daily  by  a  poet.  He  recites  with  appropriate 
action  his  verses,  heedless  of  the  profane  crowd.  He 
appears  pleased  with  his  compositions,  and  smiles  often, 
no  doubt,  in  anticipation  of  their  immortality.  I  often 
sit  an  hour  of  an  evening  at  my  window,  and  look  down 
upon  the  stream  of  people  which  flows  in  and  out,  and 
the  sentinel  who  walks  up  and  down  by  the  gate  ridi- 
culously grim.  1  love  to  read  the  views  and  disposi- 
tions of  men  in  their  faces.  I  witness  some  pleasant 
flirtations,  too,  under  the  adjacent  lime  trees,  and  many 
gratified  and  disappointed  assignations.  Now  a  lady 
wrapped  in  her  cloak  walks  up  and  down  the  most 
secret  avenue,  upon  the  anxious  watch  ;  the  lover  comes 
at  length  and  she  hastens  to  his  embraces,  and  they 
vanish  ;  and  next  in  his  turn  a  gentleman  walks  sentinel, 
until  his  lady  comes,  or  impatient  and  disappointed, 
goes  off  in  a  rage,  or  night  covers  him  with  her  hoary 
mantle. — Were   I   not  bound  by  so   many  endearing 


THE  GRISETTES,  199 

affections  of  kindred  and  friendship  to  my  native  coun- 
try, there  is  not  one  spot  upon  the  earth  I  would  prefer 
to  the  sweet  tranquillity  of  this  delicious  retirement. 

When  you  visit  the  Luxembourg,  you  will  see  multi- 
tudes everywhere  of  bouncing  demoiselles,  with  nymph- 
looking  faces,  caps  without  bonnets,  and  baskets  in  their 
hands,  traversing  the  garden  from  all  quarters,  running 
briskly  to  their  work  in  the  morning,  and  strolling 
slowly  homewards  towards  evening. — These  are  the 
grisettes.  They  are  very  pretty,  and  have  the  laudable 
little  custom  of  falling  deeply  in  love  with  one  for  five 
or  six  francs  a  piece.  They  are  common  enough  all 
over  Paris,  but  in  this  classical  region  they  are  as  the 
leaves  in  Valambrosa.  They  are  in  the  train  of  the 
muses,  and  love  the  groves  of  the  Academy.  A  grisette, 
in  this  Latin  Quarter,  is  a  branch  of  education.  If  a 
student  is  ill,  his  faithful  grisette  nurses  him  and  cures 
him  ;  if  he  is  destitute,  she  works  for  him  ;  and  if  he  falls 
into  irretrievable  misfortune,  she  dies  with  him.  Thus  a 
mutual  dependence  endears  them  to  each  other ;  he 
defends  her  with  his  life,  and  sure  of  his  protection,  she 
feels  her  consequence,  and  struts  in  her  new  starched 
cap  the  reigning  monarch  of  the  Luxembourg. 

A  grisette  never  obtrudes  her  acquaintance,  but 
question  her  and  you  will  find  her  circumstantially 
communicative.  Such  information  as  she  possesses,  and 
a  great  deal  more,  she  will  retail  to  you  with  a  naivete 
and  simplicity,  you  would  swear  she  was  brought  up 
amongst  your  innocent  lambs  and  turtle  doves  of  the 
Shamoken.  She  is  the  most  ingenious  imitation  of  an 
innocent  woman  that  is  in  the  world ;  and  never  was 
language  employed  more  happily  for  the  concealment 
of  thought  (I  ask  pardon  of  Prince  Talleyrand)  than  in 
the  mouth  of  a  grisette.     The  devil  is  called  the  father 


-'00  GRISETTES — THEIR  ARTIFICES. 

of  lies  (I  ask  pardon  again  of  the  Prince),  but  there  is 
not  one  of  these  little  imps  but  can  outdo  her  papa  in 
this  particular.  When  sent  with  goods  from  shop-keep- 
ers to  their  customers — the  common  practice  of  this 
place — she  will  lie  and  wrestle  for  her  patron,  and  per- 
jure herself  like  a  Greek  ;  when  accused,  she  will  listen 
to  reproaches,  insults,  even  abuse,  as  long  as  there  is 
any  point  of  defence,  with  the  resignation  of  Saint 
Michael;  and  there  is  no  trick  of  the  stage,  no  artifice 
of  rhetoric  recommended  by  Cicero  that  she  leaves  out 
in  her  pleadings;  if  at  last  overcome — why,  she  sur- 
renders. She  remains  awhile  mute,  and  then  sets  her- 
self to  look  sorry  with  all  her  might ;  at  last  she  bursts 
into  tears,  with  sobs  and  sighs,  until  she  disarms  yon. 
"  Well,  let  me  see  what  you  have  got."  She  will  now 
wipe  away  gracefully  the  briny  drops  with  the  corner 
of  her  apron;  brighten  up  again,  show  you  her  goods 
again,  and  cheat  you  once  more  by  way  of  reparation 
for  her  former  rogueries. 

There  is  a  modiste,  lodged  in  the  adjoining  room,  of 
New  Orleans,  who  entertains  about  twenty  of  these 
every  morning  at  her  levee.  I  make  sometimes  one  of 
the  group,  and  from  this  opportunity  and  from  the  lady's 
information,  I  am  thus  learned  about  grisettes. 

Let  us  moralize  a  little  on  this  subject.  Paris  is  six 
times  more  populous  than  Philadelphia,  and,  for  the 
same  reason  that  the  black  sheep  eat  less  than  the  white 
ones,  we  are  six  times  less  vicious  than  the  Parisians. 
Again,  circumstances  make  the  same  things  less  criminal 
at  one  time,  and  in  one  country,  than  another.  We  are 
not  censorious  of  the  Turk  who  has  three  wives ;  we 
say  it  is  the  religion  of  his  country;  when  we  would  dis- 
own any  one  of  our  own  citizens  for  half  that  number; 
nor  do  we  blame  very  heartily  Solomon  for  his  excess 


CONJUGAL  FIDELITY.  201 

of  concubines,  for  we  say  it  was  the  fashion  of  the  times ; 
nor  even  Adam  that  his  daughters  married  with  their 
brothers ;  we  say  it  was  a  case  of  necessity.  In  Philadel- 
phia, every  woman  has  before  her  the  prospect  of  a  mar- 
riage, and  she  would  be  not  only  vicious,  but  very  im- 
prudent to  forfeit  her  advantages ;  necessity  will  not 
stand  up  in  her  defence.  In  Paris,  there  are  twenty 
thousand,  at  least,  of  the  sex,  who  have  not  the  faintest 
hope  or  opportunity  of  marriage ;  and  if  they,  some- 
times, make  the  next  good  bargain  they  can,  and  vindi- 
cate the  rights  of  nature  over  imperious  circumstances, 
upon  what  propriety  is  their  offence  to  be  weighed  in 
our  American  scale  of  religion  and  morals  ?  It  is  to  be 
remarked,  too,  that  the  debasement  of  mind,  produced 
by  any  vice,  is  influenced  materially  by  the  degree  of 
odium  and  censure  attached  to  it  by  the  public  opinion. 
Concubinage,  so  intolerable  in  our  communities  in  both 
sexes,  is  here  scarce  a  subject  of  remark  in  either.  It 
prejudices  no  reputation ;  it  does  not  throw  a  woman 
out  of  society ;  she,  therefore,  cultivates  agreeable  talents, 
and  preserves  many  of  the  excellent  qualities  of  a  ma- 
tron. In  many  instances,  indeed,  a  Parisian  woman  is 
less  corrupted,  and  much  less  exposed  to  corruption  by 
being  a  mistress,  than  being  a  wife.  The  ancient  Athe- 
nian society  had  partly  the  same  character;  that  pro- 
duced the  Aspasias,  the  Phrynes  and  Sapphos,  and  this 
the  Ninon  de  l'Enclos. 

If  you  will  but  bear  in  mind  that  I  am  not  defending 
the  state  of  Paris  society,  but  showing  only  how  far  the 
faults  of  individuals,  who  do  not  create  but  are  subject 
to  its  laws,  may  be  extenuated,  I  will  venture  to  say 
also,  that  the  gallantries  of  married  women  are  much 
less  pernicious,  and  much  less  wicked  in  Paris,  than  they 
would  be  in  our  American  cities.     You  make  your  own 


'202  POLICY  OF  SENDING  YOUTH  TO  PARIS. 

marriages,  which  are  generally  well  enough  assorted; 
and  your  husbands,  for  several  obvious  reasons,  are 
rather  faithful;  but  in  Paris,  where  eighteen  is  tied  to 
fifty,  (the  common  condition,)  and  fifty  too,  worn  out 
with  libertinism  and  debauch,  and  where  the  husband 
keeps  his  mistress  under  the  very  nose  of  his  wife,  are 
you  allowed  injustice  to  exact  the  same  conjugal  faith 
from  wives,  or  measure  an  act  of  infidelity,  which  pro- 
duces no  scandal  or  ruin  of  families,  by  the  same  stand- 
ard of  criminality  as  in  our  country?  I  do  not  mean  to 
say,  by  all  this,  that  ladies  faithful  to  their  lords  are  not 
very  common  in  this  city ;  they  are  certainly  not  the  less 
entitled  to  praise  for  being  honest  in  a  place  where  pub- 
lic opinion  does  not  deter  them  from  being  the  contrary. 
There  are  some  French  husbands  so  amiable,  that  even 
their  wives  cannot  help  loving  them. 

It  is  important  for  one's  mamma  to  know  whether  it 
is  a  good  or  bad  fashion,  that  so  common  now-a-days,  of 
sending  a  young  gentleman,  just  stepping  from  youth 
into  manhood,  to  Europe,  especially  to  Paris.  I  will 
venture  some  remarks,  for  your  information,  though  I 
have  no  very  settled  opinion  on  the  subject.  I  know 
several  Americans  here,  some  engaged  in  medical  and 
scientific  schools,  and  some  in  painting  and  other  arts, 
who  appear  to  me  to  be  exceedingly  diligent,  and  to 
make  as  profitable  a  use  of  their  time,  as  they  would 
anywhere  else.  I  know  some  who  mix  pleasure  with 
business,  and  a  little  folly  with  their  wisdom;  and  some 
"(you  will  please  put  me  iti  this  class)  who  do  not  taste 
dissipation  with  their  "  extremest  lips."  But  I  know 
some  also,  who,  under  pretext  of  law  and  medicines, 
study  mischief  only,  and  return  home  worse,  if  possible, 
than  when  they  came  out.  I  know  one  now,  who, 
having  too  much  health,  overruns  his  revenues  occa- 


AMERICANS  IN  PARIS.  203 

sionally,  and  draws  upon  home  for  a  doctor's  and 
apothecary's  bill;  and  another  poor  devil,  who  has 
gone  to  Mount  Piete  with  his  last  trinket.  There  came 
one  from  the  Mississippi  lately,  who,  being  very  young, 
and  rich  and  unmarried,  set  up  a  kind  of  seraglio,  and 
died  of  love,  yesterday  ;  they  are  burying  him  to-day,  at 
Pere  la  Chaise.  I  know  one,  also,  who  has  lived  here 
nine  years,  who  reads  Voltaire,  keeps  a  French  cook, 
and  his  principles  are  as  French  as  his  stomach  ;  and 
another,  who  entertains  the  French  noblesse  with  fetes 
and  soirees,  to  the  tune  of  a  hundred  thousand  per  an- 
num— from  his  stable  thirty-six  horses,  full  bred,  better 
than  many  of  his  majesty's  subjects,  come  prancing 
out  on  days  of  jubilee  upon  the  Boulevards. 

If  a  young  man's  morals  should  get  out  of  order  at 
home,  Paris  is  not  exactly  the  place  to  which  I  would  send 
him  to  be  cured.  It  is  true,  if  drunkenness  be  the  com 
plaint,  it  is  not  a  vice  of  the  place  ;  and,  if  curable  at  all, 
which  I  do  not  believe,  Paris,  from  its  common  use  of 
light  wines,  and  variety  of  amusements,  is  perhaps  the 
best  place  to  make  the  attempt.  It  is  certainly  not  the 
most  dangerous  place  of  falling  into  this  vice.  If  he  be 
fond  of  gambling,  here  it  is  a  genteel  accomplishment, 
and  brought  out  under  the  patronage  of  the  government. 
And  to  keep  a  mistress  is  not  only  not  disgraceful  in 
French  society,  but  is  always  mentioned  to  one's  credit. 
It  is  a  part  of  a  gentleman's  equipage,  and  adds  to  his 
gentility,  for  it  implies  that  he  possesses  that  most 
considerable  merit,  that  a  gentleman  can  aspire  to  in 
this  country,  and  most  others — money.  "  11  a  la  plus 
jolie  maitresse  cle  Paris/"  you  cannot  say  anything 
more  complimentary,  if  it  were  of  the  prime  minister; 
and  it  would  scarce  be  an  injurious  imputation  if  said  of 
one's  father  confessor.     If  you  send,  then,  your  son  to 


204  PARISIAN  MORALS. 

Paris,  am  I  uncharitable  in  surmising  that  he  may, 
sometimes,  use  the  privilege. of  the  place  ?  It  is,  indeed, 
a  question  for  philosophy  to  determine,  (and  not  for  me,) 
which  of  the  two  may  be  the  less  injurious  to  his  health 
and  morals,  the  gross  intercourse  he  is  exposed  to  in 
some  other  towns,  or  the  more  refined  gallantries  of  the 
French  capital.  If  you  can  preserve  him,  by  religious 
and  other  influences  from  either,  as  well  as  from  the 
dangers  of  an  ascetic  and  solitary  abstinence — for  soli- 
tude has  its  vices  as  well  as  dissipation — so  much  the 
better.  He  will  be  a  better  husband,  a  better  citizen, 
and  a  better  man.  But  let  me  tell  you  that  to  educate 
a  young  man  of  fortune  and  leisure  to  live  through  a 
youth  of  honesty,  has  become  excessively  difficult  even 
in  any  country ;  and  to  expect  that,  with  money  and 
address,  he  will  live  entirely  honest  in  Paris,  where 
women  of  a  good  quality  are  thrown  in  his  face — 
women  of  art,  of  beauty,  and  refined  education — it  is  to 
attribute  virtues  to  human  nature  she  is  no  way  enti- 
tled to.  The  Greeks  used  to  indulge  their  sons,  waiting 
a  fit  marriage,  with  mistresses  of  "decent  and  respecta- 
ble character;"  and  entertained  them,  even,  sometimes, 
under  the  paternal  roof;  this  they  thought  necessary  to 
the  preservation  of  their  morals  and  health.  If  you 
love  the  Greeks,  then,  send  your  son  over  by  the  next 
packet.  He  may  have  some  trouble  with  his  conscience, 
perhaps,  the  first  month  or  two,  but,  by  degrees,  he 
will  become  reconciled,  and  get  along  well  enough.  If 
he  comes  over,  with  some  refinement  of  taste,  and  moral 
inclinations  and  habits,  or  only  on  a  transient  visit,  or 
without  French,  he  will  be  secure  from  all  the  dangers 
(except,  perhaps,  gambling)  to  which  I  have  alluded ; 
he  will  live  only  in  American  society,  which  is  quite  as 
good  and  pure  here  as  at  home ;  he  will  have  no  ac- 


VICES  OF  THE  CAPITAL.  205 

quaintance  with  the  natives,  but  of  that  class  in  which  a 
gentleman's  morals  run  less  risk  of  temptation  than  even 
from  the  vulgar  intercourse  of  American  towns.  All 
that  part  of  a  city  like  Paris,  that  comes  into  relation 
with  strangers,  and  lives  by  deceiving  and  plundering 
them,  is  of  course  gross  and  corrupt ;  and  as  the  best 
things  are  the  worst  when  spoilt,  the  women  are  de- 
testable ;  even  when  there  is  youth  or  beauty,  its  natural 
feelings  are  perverted  and  worn  out  by  use ;  it  is  flat 
beer,  stale  without  being  ripe.  I  do  not  know  any 
community  in  which  the  honesty  of  a  gentleman  is  so 
safe  from  contamination. 

It  is  certainly  of  much  value  in  the  life  of  an  Ame- 
rican gentleman  to  visit  these  old  countries;  if  it  were 
only  to  form  a  just  estimate  of  his  own,  which  he  is 
continually  liable  to  mistake,  and  always  to  overrate 
without  objects  of  comparison  ;  "  nimium  se  ass  timet 
necesse  est,  qui  se  nemini  compared."  He  will  always 
think  himself  wise,  who  sees  nobody  wiser;  and  to 
know  the  customs  and  institutions  of  foreign  countries, 
which  one  cannot  know  well  without  residing  there,  is 
certainly  the  complement  of  a  good  education.  The 
American  society  at  Paris,  taken  altogether,  is  of  a  good 
composition.  It  consists  of  several  hundred  persons,  of 
families  of  fortune,  and  young  men  of  liberal  instruc- 
tion. Here  are  lords  of  cotton  from  Carolina,  and  of 
sugar-cane  from  the  Mississippi,  millionaires  from  all 
the  Canadas,  and  pursers  from  all  the  navies ;  and  their 
social  qualities,  from  a  sense  of  mutual  dependence  or 
partnership  in  absence,  or  some  such  causes,  are  more 
active  abroad  than  at  home.  The  benevolent  affections 
act  in  a  contrary  way  from  gravitation;  they  increase  as 
the  square  of  the  distance  from  the  centre.  The  plain 
fact  is,  that  Americans  at  Paris  are  hospitable  in  a  very 
vol.  i. — 18 


206  AMERICAN  SOCIETY  IN  PARIS. 

high  degree;  ihey  have  no  fear  of  being  dogged  with 
company,  and  have  leisure  here  which  they  have  no- 
where else,  to  be  amiable;  the  new  comer,  too,  is  more 
tender  and  thankful,  and  has  a  higher  relish  of  hospita- 
lity and  kindness;  and  the  general  example  of  the  place 
lias  its  effect  on  their  animal  spirits.  They  form  a  little 
republic  apart,  and  when  a  stranger  arrives,  he  finds 
himself  at  home ;  he  finds  himself  also  under  the  cen- 
sorial inspection  of  a  public  opinion,  a  salutary  restraint 
not  always  the  luck  of  those  who  travel  into  foreign 
countries.  One  thing  only  is  to  be  blamed.  It  becomes 
every  day  more  the  fashion  for  the  Mite  of  our  cities  to 
settle  themselves  here  permanently.  We  cannot  but 
deplore  this  exportation  of  the  precious  metals,  since 
our  country  is  drained  of  what  the  supply  is  not  too 
abundant.  They  who  have  resided  here  a  few  years, 
having  fortune  and  leisure,  do  not  choose,  as  I  perceive, 
to  reside  anywhere  else. 

It  is  now  midnight  and  more.  I  have  said  so  much 
in  this  letter  about  grisettes,  that  I  shall  have  a  night- 
mare of  them  before  morning.  This  "  Latin  Quarter" 
is  one  of  the  most  instructing  volumes  of  Paris,  but  all  1 
can  do  is  just  open  you  here  and  there  some  of  its  pages 
and  show  you  the  pictures — pictures  in  this  country, 
recollect,  are  more  cl  decouvert  than  in  America.  Please 
make  the  allowance.     Good  night. 


THE  OBSERVATORY.  207 


LETTER    XI. 

The  Observatory — The  astronomers — Val  de  Grace — Anne  of  Austria 
— Hospice  des  Enfans  Trouves — Rows  of  cradles  -  Sisters  of 
Charity — Vincent  de  Paul — Maisons  d'Accouchement — Place  St. 
Jacques — The  Catacombs — Skull  of  Ninon  de  1'Enclos — The  poet 
Gilbert — Julian's  Bath — Hotel  de  Cluny — Ancient  furniture — 
Francis  the  First's  bed — Charlotte  Corday — Danton — Marat — 
Robespierre  — Rue  des  Postes — Convents  of  former  times — Fau- 
bourg St.  Marceau. 

Paris,  Oct.  25th. 
I  rose  this  morning  and  refreshed  myself  from  the 
repose  of  the  night,  by  running  boyishly  up  the  broad 
and  elegant  walk  which  leads  to  the  south  end  of  the 
garden,  to  the  Observatory ;  the  place  where  they  make 
almanacks ;  I  went  and  saw  great  piles  of  astronomical 
books  and  instruments,  an  anemometer  to  measure  the 
winds,  and  another  affair  baptized  also  in  Greek,  to 
measure  the  rain  ;  also  a  thing  in  the  cellar,  which  in 
this  Latin  Quarter,  they  call  an  "  acoustic  phenomenon" 
By  this  you  can  talk  aloud  all  day  to  any  individual 
standing  in  a  particular  place,  and  not  another  of  the 
company  will  be  any  the  wiser  for  it.  There  are  a 
number  of  men  here  whom  they  call  Astronomers,  who, 
while  we  are  asleep,  look  after  the  stars,  and  observe 
what  is  going  on  in  the  moon ;  and  who  go  to  bed  with 
Venus  and  the  heavenly  bodies  towards  morning.  I 
must  tell  you  what  1  saw  in  coming  out.  I  saw  a 
woman,  and  a  very  decent  woman  too,  astride  of  the 
Meridian.     She  had  one  foot  in  East,  and  the  other  all 


208  VAL  DE  GRACE. 

the  way  in  West  longitude.  This  was  her  way  of 
straddling  a  pole. 

There  was  an  old  woman  here  in  a  little  stall,  upon  a 
broad  and  paved  place  in  front  of  the  Observatory,  who 
sells  tobacco  and  butter,  belly-guts  and  epic  poems,  who 
showed  me  the  very  stone  upon  which  Marshal  Ney 
stood  to  be  shot.  "  There  stood  the  wretches  that  shot 
him.  Yes,  sir,  I  saw  him  murdered,  and  I  never  wish  to 
see  the  like  again." 

Just  east  I  visited  another  remarkable  building,  which 
young  girls  read  about  in  their  romances,  called  Val  de 
Grace.  Anne  of  Austria  had  been  married  twenty-two 
years,  without  having,  as  they  say  in  London,  any  hair 
to  her  crown,  and  she  did  not  know  what  to  do  about 
it.  She  first  prayed  to  the  Lord  as  Rachel  had  done  in 
a  similar  torment,  and  the  Lord  was  deaf  unto  her  pray- 
ers. She  then  applied  to  certain  Benedictine  monks  of 
St.  Jacques.  She  promised  to  build  them  a  temple,  and 
they  interceded  for  her,  and  she  had  a  fine  son ;  you 
have  perhaps  heard  of  Louis  XIV.  Now  this  church 
which  she  built,  was  Val  de  Grace.  If  you  wish  to 
see  the  prettiest  fresco  paintings  of  all  Paris,  you  must 
go  in  here  and  look  up  at  the  dome ;  the  chapels,  too, 
are  full  of  virgins  and  musty  little  angels.  She  came 
here  in  1624,  and  laid  the  corner  stone  with,  her  own 
little  hands— Anne  of  Austria  did.  And  she  bestowed 
some  special  privileges  upon  the  monastery ;  amongst 
others,  the  right  of  burying  in  this  church  the  hearts 
of  all  the  defunct  princesses,  beginning  with  herself; 
and  at  the  Revolution  "  one  counted  even  to  twenty-six 
royal  hearts."  The  convent  of  Val  de  Grace  is  now 
turned  into  a  military  hospital,  and  greasy  soldiers  are 
stabled  where  once  lived  and  breathed  the  pretty  nuns 
you  read  of  in  your  novels. 


FOUNDLING  HOSPITAL.  209 

Just  in  the  neighborhood  is  the  Hospice  des  Enfans 
Trouvh,  to  which  I  paid  a  hasty  visit.  If  a  child  takes 
it  into  its  head  to  be  born  out  of  lawful  wedlock,  which 
now  and  then  occurs,  it  is  carried  to  this  hospital  for 
nourishment  and  education.  The  average  number  ad- 
mitted here,  is  6000  annually  ;  161  per  day.  They  are 
received  day  and  night,  and  no  questions  asked.  All  you 
have  to  do  is,  place  the  little  human  being  in  a  box  com 
municating  with  an  apartment  in  the  interior,  which  on 
ringing  a  bell,  is  taken  in,  and  gets  on  afterwards  well 
enough,  often  better  than  we  who  think  ourselves  legiti- 
mate. It  sucks  no  diseases  from  its  mother's  milk;  and 
from  its  father's  example  no  vices ;  and  it  has  a  good 
many  virtues  incident  to  its  condition.  It  has  amongst 
these  a  great  reverence  for  old  age,  not  knowing  but 
that  every  old  gentleman  it  meets  might  be  a  little  its 
papa. 

On  entering  this  hospital  you  will  see  two  long  rows 
of  cradles  running  over  with  babies,  and  a  group  of  sis- 
ters in  gowns  of  black  serge,  making  and  mending  up 
the  baby  wardrobe,  or  extending  to  the  little  destitute 
creatures  the  offices  of  maternity ;  and  indeed  they  take 
such  care  of  them  as  almost  to  discourage  poor  peo- 
ple from  having  legitimate  children  altogether.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  many  an  excellent  mother  in  passing  by 
repents  sincerely  that  her  poor  children  are  not  misbe- 
gotten; and  that  the  little  rogues  too  themselves,  as  they 
toddle  along  outside  in  their  sabots,  to  their  day's  work, 
without  their  breakfast,  wish  to  the  Lord  such,  things 
had  never  been  born  as  honest  mammies  to  forestall  their 
advantages.  But  what  praise  can  be  equal  to  the  merits 
of  these  Sisters  of  Charity?  You  see  them  everywhere 
that  suffering  humanity  needs  their  assistance  ;  their  de- 
votion has  no  parallel  in  the  history  of  the  world.  They 

18* 


210  VINCENT  DE  PAUL. 

are  very  often,  too,  of  rich  and  distinguished  families, 
women  who  leave  all  enjoyments  of  gay  society,  to  pur- 
sue these  humble  and  laborious  duties,  to  practice  in  these 
silent  walls,  prudence,  patience,  fortitude,  and  all  those 
domestic  virtues  and  peaceful  moralities,  which,  in  this 
naughty  world  of  ours,  obtain  neither  admiration  nor 
distinction.  Think  only  of  relinquishing  fashion,  and 
rank,  and  pleasure  to  be  granny  to  an  almshouse! 

This  hospital  was  founded  by  one  of  the  most  re- 
spectable saints  of  all  Paris,  Vincent  de  Paul.  His  statue 
is  placed  in  the  vestibule.  It  would  do  your  heart  good 
to  see  the  babies  go  down  on  their  bits  of  knees  every 
evening  and  bless  the  memory  of  this  Saint.  A  cradle 
used  to  be  hung  up  as  a  sign  to  draw  customers  here, 
but  the  reputation  of  the  house  is  now  made,  and  it  is 
taken  down.  Formerly  the  ringing  of  a  bell,  too,  or  the 
wailings  of  the  infant,  the  mother  giving  it  a  pinch,  was 
enough  to  announce  a  new  comer,  but  lately  so  many 
dead  children  have  been  put  in  the  box  to  avoid  the 
expense  of  burying  them,  that  they  have  been  obliged  to 
stop  up  the  hole.  I  am  sorry  for  this ;  it  was  so  con- 
venient. You  just  put  in  a  baby  as  you  put  in  a  letter  in 
the  post-office;  now  you  are  obliged  to  carry  it  into  a 
room  inside,  where  the  names,  dress,  the  words  and 
behavior  of  those  who  bring  it,  as  also  its  death,  are 
entered  in  a  register  ;  this  register  is  kept  a  profound 
secret;  never  revealed  to  any  one,  unless  one  pays  twenty 
francs. 

I  visited  the  school-rooms,  where  those  of  proper  age 
are  taught  to  read  and  write.  They  seem  very  merry 
and  happy,  and,  having  no  communication  with  the 
world,  are  unconscious  of  any  inferiority  of  birth;  they 
think  we  all  come  the  same  way.  When  very  young 
or  sickly,  they  are  put  out  to  nurse  through  the  country, 


MAISONS  d'aCCOUCHEMENT.  211 

and  at  twelve  are  apprenticed  to  a  trade.  The  sisters 
will  point  you  out  a  mother  who  has  placed  her  infant 
here  and  got  herself  employed  as  child's  nurse  to  the 
hospital  to  give  it  nourishment  and  care.  I  forgot  to 
mention  that  mothers  are  not  allowed  to  see  their  babies, 
or  receive  their  bodies  if  they  die;  they  are  reserved  for 
the  improvement  of  anatomical  science. 

A  useful  appendage  to  this  establishment  are  the 
numerous  Maisons  d? Accouchement,  distributed  every- 
where over  the  city,  in  which  persons  find  accommoda- 
tions, as  secretly  as  they  please,  and  at  all  prices  to  suit 
their  circumstances.  The  evils  of  all  these  establish- 
ments are  manifest ;  the  good  is,  the  prevention  of  in- 
fanticide, often  of  suicide,  and  of  the  perjuries  innume- 
rable, and  impositions  practised  in  some  other  countries. 
I  doubt  whether  a  city  like  Paris  could  safely  adopt  any 
other  system.  The  tables  of  the  last  year's  birth  stand 
thus :  seventeen  thousand  one  hundred  and  twenty-nine 
legitimate;  nine  thousand  seven  hundred  and  Iwenty- 
one  illegitimate.  So  you  see  that  every  second  man  you 
meet  in  Paris  wants  but  a  trifle  of  being  no  bastard. 
Expense  above  a  million  and  a  half  of  francs. 

Here  is  the  Place  St.  Jacques;  the  place  of  public 
execution.  It  is  the  present  station  of  the  Guillotine, 
which  has  already  made  several  spots  of  the  city  classi- 
cal. And  here  is  appropriately  the  Barriere  d'Enfer. 
These  barriers  are  found  at  all  the  great  issues  from 
the  city  through  the  walls.  They  are  amongst  the 
curiosities  of  Paris;  often  beautiful  with  sculpture,  and 
other  ornaments. 

Whilst  I  was  surveying  this  district,  in  my  usual 
solitary  way,  I  met  two  gentlemen  and  a  lady,  ac- 
quaintances, who  were  descending  into  the  Catacombs, 
whose  opening  is  just  here ;  and  I  went  down  with 


212  THE  CATACOMBS. NINON  DE  l'eNCLOS. 

them.  This  nether  world  bears  upon  its  vaults  three 
fourths  of  the  Quarter  St.  Germain,  with  its  superin- 
cumbent mass  of  churches  and  palaces.  The  light  of 
Heaven  is  shut  out,  and  so  deep  a  silence  reigns  in  its 
recesses,  that  one  hears  his  own  footsteps  walking  after 
him,  and  is  so  vast  that  several  visitors, 'straying  away 
a  i'ew  years  ago,  have  not  yet  returned.  The  bones 
of  fifty  generations  are  emptied  here  from  ancient  grave- 
yards of  Paris,  now  only  known  to  history.  What 
a  hideous  deformity  of  skulls  !  After  entering  half 
a  mile  we  saw  various  constructions,  all  made  out  of 
these  remnants  of  mortality ;  sepulchral  monuments, 
an  entire  church,  with  its  pulpit,  confessional,  altars, 
tombs,  and  coffins;  and  the  victims  of  several  Revolu- 
tionary massacres  are  laid  out  here  chronologically. 
How  unjacobinical  they  look  ! 

On  entering  you  are  confronted  with  the  following 
inscription  :  "  Jirrete,  c'e.st  ici  V empire  de  la  Mort  /" 
and  various  other  inscriptions  are  put  up  in  the  dead 
languages,  and  names  often  written  upon  skulls,  to 
designate  their  owners.  "  Fix  your  eyes  here,"  said 
our  lady;  "this  is  the  skull  of  Ninon  de  l'Euclos," 
with  verses. 

"  L'indulgente  et  sage  Nature 

A  forme  1'ame  de  Ninon 
De  la  volupte  d'Epicure, 

Et  de  la  vertu  de  Canton." 

And  this  is  her  skull !  Every  one  knows  her  history, 
but  I  will  tell  a  little  of  it  over  again.  I  will  give  you 
a  list  of  her  court.  Moliere,  Corneille,  Scarron,  St. 
Evermond,  Chapelle,  Desmarets,  Mignard,  Chateauneuf, 
Chaulieu,  Conde,  Vendome,  Villeroi,  Villars,  D'Estrees, 
La  Rochefoucauld,  Choiseuil,  Sevigne  and  Fontenelle. 
She  was  honored  with  the  confidence  of  Madame  Scar- 


THE  POET  GILBERT.  213 

ron,  and  the  homage,  through  her  ambassadors,  of  the 
Queen  of  Sweden.  She  made  conquests  at  sixty,  one 
at  seventy,, and  died  at  ninety.  Her  own  son,  the  Che- 
valier de  Villiers,  fell  in  love  with  her  at  fifty,  and  fell 
upon  his  sword,  when  she  revealed  to  him  the  se- 
cret of  his  birth.  The  Chevalier  de  Gourville  confided 
to  her  twenty  thousand  crowns,  when  driven  to  exile, 
and  a  like  sum  to  the  Grand  Penitencier;  the  priest 
denied  the  deposit,  and  the  courtezan  restored  it,  un- 
asked. I  visited,  a  month  ago,  her  chateau,  and  saw 
the  rooms  in  which  she  used  to  give  her  famous  supper 
"£  lous  les  Despreaux,  et  tons  les  JRacines."  And 
this  is  her  skull !  While  my  doctor  companions  were 
turning  it  about,  and  explaining  the  bumps— how  big 
was  her  ideality,  how  developed  her  amativeness,  I 
turned  her  about  in  my  mind,  until  I  had  turned  her  into 
shapes  again — into  that  incomparable  beauty  and  grace, 
which  no  rival  was  able  to  equal,  and  which  sensuality 
itself  was  not  able  to  degrade.  I  hung  back  the  lips 
upon  those  grinning  teeth,  I  gave  her  her  smile  again, 
her  wit,  and  her  eloquence.  I  assisted  at  her  little  court 
of  Cyprus,  in  the  Rue  de  Tournelle,  where  philosophers 
came  to  gather  wisdom,  and  courtiers  grace  from  her 
conversation  ;  I  assisted  at  her  toilet,  and  witnessed  the 
hopes,  the  jealousies,  the  agonies,  and  ecstacies  of  her 
lovers.  And  so  we  took  leave  of  the  exquisite  Ninon's 
skull — if  it  was  hers. 

The  poet  Gilbert,  who  died  of  want,  has  here  an 
apartment  to  himself,  which  he  had  not  above  ground. 
It  is  inscribed  with  his  own  mournful  epitaph  : 

"  Au  banquet  de  la  vie,  infortune  convive, 
J'apparus  un  jour,  et  je  meurs. 
Je  meurs,  et  sur  ma  tombe,  oh  lentement  j'arrive, 
Nul  ne  viendra  verser  des  pleurs  !" 

I  could  not  help  contradicting  him  for  the  life  of  me. 


214  JULIAN  BATHS. 

In  the  very  interior  of  the  cavern  are  collections  of 
water  which  have  classical  names.  Herer  is  the  Styx 
jnst  under  the  Ecole  Medecine,  and  the  river  Lethe 
flows  hard  hy  the  Institute.  We  came  at  length  to  the 
cabinet  of  skulls,  arranged  upon  shelves,  some  for  phre- 
nology, and  some  for  pathology,  exhibiting  in  classes 
the  several  diseases;  which  our  doctors  explained  with 
nice  circumstantiality,  to  their  Sibyl  conductor;  rows 
of  toes,  of  fingers,  and  jaws,  and  legs  which  used 
to  cut  pigeon-wings,  and  pirouettes,  alas !  how  grace- 
fully. In  the  mean  time  I  saw  a  couple  of  ghosts,  (I 
supposed  them  to  be  Cuvier,  and  Dr.  Gall,)  skulking 
away  as  soon  as  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  our  tapers, 
and -I  saw  a  great  many  other  things,  not  interesting  to 
people  above  ground.  We  began  now  to  be  apprehen- 
sive of  taking  cold,  and  being  sent  hither  to  enrich  these 
cabinets;  and  so  we  deposited  at  the  door  our  golden 
branch,  and  having  mounted  a  strait  stairway  one  hun- 
dred feet  were  purified  in  open  air. 

The  two  doctors  now  left  me  their  Eurydice,  and 
she  and  I,  being  inspired  alike  with  the  spirit  of  sight- 
seeing, went  a  few  hundred  yards  westward  and  saw 
Julian's  Baths.  Though  he  is  said  to  have  been 
little  addicted  to  bathing,  here  are  his  baths,  the  only 
relic  of  his  sojourn  in  Paris.  This  old  building  is  an 
oblong  with  very  thick  walls,  which  are  crumbling  to 
decay.  One  of  them  is  entirely  dilapidated.  The  vaults, 
rising  forty-two  feet  above  the  soil,  and  furnaces  under 
ground,  and  parts  of  the  bathing-rooms,  are  exposed  to 
view,  in  all  the  naked  majesty  of  a  ruin  ;  a  ruin,  too,  of 
fifteen  centuries.  This  is  but  a  single  hall  of  an  im- 
mense palace — the  Palais  des  Thermes — which  once 
covered  the  present  site  of  the  University.  It  was  the 
scene  of  licentious  revelings  and  crime,  "latebra  scele- 


ANCIENT  FURNITURE. 


215 


rum,  Venerisque  accommoda  furtis,"  afterwards  of 
the  theological  disputes  of  the  Sorborme,  and  now  of  the 
quiet  lectures  of  the  University;  and  Virgin  Maries  are 
now  made  out  of  the  old  Venuses.  I  am  a  goose  of 
an  antiquary,  all  I  could  see  was  Mrs.  Julien  jumping 
into  her  bath  and  coming  dribbling  out  again  ;  but  my 
companion  was  very  different.  She  had  a  taste  for 
putting  her  nose  in  every  musty  corner,  and  cracking 
off  pieces  of  a  bath,  and  the  Roman  mortar,  of  which 
posterity  has  lost  the  secret,  to  put  in  her  cabinet.  She 
has  overrun  all  Europe,  and  has  now  got,  she  says,  near 
a  ton  of  antiquities.  She  has  a  stone  from  Kenil- 
worth,  and  a  birch  from  Virgil's  tomb,  plenty  of  mo- 
saics from  the  Coliseum,  and  of  «  auld  nick-nackets," 
from  Stirling  castle.  She  has  promised  me  a  leaf  from 
Tasso's  lemon  tree,  and  one  from  Rousseau's  rose  bush, 
also  a  twig  of  William  Tell's  tree  of  liberty,  and  Shaks- 
peare's  mulberry,  and  a  little  chip  of  Doctor  John- 
son's cedar  at  Streatham.  And  nearly  all  our  traveling 
Yankee  ladies  are  bringing  over  a  similar  collection  ; 
after  a  while  the  commonest  thing  in  the  world  will  be 
a  curiosity. 

Close  in  this  neighborhood  is  the  Hotel  de  Cluny,  to 
which  we  paid  also  a  visit — I  having  a  ticket  from  Mr. 
Sommerand,  the  proprietor.  In  this  hotel  used  to  lodge 
Roman  generals  and  emperors,  and  the  first  French 
kings.  A  suit  of  seven  or  eight  rooms  are  crammed 
with  furniture,  the  remains  of  the  last  age  ;  some  of  it 
magnificently  decayed;  commodes,  chests,  boxes,  se- 
cond-hand tootn-brushes,  pots  de  chambre  as  good  as 
new,  and  other  national  relics.  Nothing  cotemporary 
enters  here;  there  was  nothing,  but  the  lady  who  ac- 
companied me,  under  a  hundred  years  old.     First,  we 


216  BED  OF  FRANCIS  FIRST. 

entered  the  dining-room,  and  saw  a  knight  in  full  armor 
placed  by  a  table  ;  and  the  ghost  of  a  mahogany  side- 
board at  the  opposite  end — without  date,  and  there  is  no 
knowing  whether  it  was  made  before  or  since  the  flood — 
with  its  knives  and  spoons  and  earthenware  tea-cups  of 
the  same  antiquity ;  next  a  bed-chamber,  hung  in  gilt 
leather — whose,  do  you  think?  Why  Francis  the  First's, 
with  all  the  implements  thereunto  belonging.  An  entire 
suit  of  steel  armor,  cap-a-pie,  reposes  upon  the  bed,  with 
a  vizor  of  the  knight's,  which  had  gained  victories  in 
jousts  and  tournaments;  also  an  old  coat  out  at  the  el- 
bows, worn  last,  1  presume,  by  his  footman.  Every  little 
rag  of  his  is  preserved  here.  Here,  too,  are  girdles  and 
bracelets,  caskets,  and  other  valuables",  and  a  necklace 
with  its  pedigree  labeled  on  a  bit  of  parchment ;  the  Belle 
Feroniere's,  I  suppose.  Here  is  the  very  glass  he  looked 
into,  with  a  Venus  holding  a  garland  in  front,  and  a  cross 
and  altar  behind,  by  way  of  symmetry;  and  here  are  the 
very  spurs  (I  held  them  in  my  hand)  which  he  wore  at 
Pavia  ;  finally,  the  very  bed,  the  very  sheets  his  Majesty 
slept  in.  This  bed  was  hawked  about  all  Paris  in  the 
Revolution — Mrs.  Griggou  had  twins  on  it— at  last  it 
was  sold  at  auction  in  the  public  streets,  a  dix  francs 
settlement,  and  was  knocked  down  to  Monsieur  Som- 
merand— bed,  comfortable,  and  the  little  pillow  about  as 
big  as  a  sausage.  I  was  much  gratified  with  this  collec- 
tion, which  is  certainly  unique  in  the  world ;  and  you 
are  not  hurried  through  by  a  Cicerone,  but  by  the  com- 
plaisance of  M.  Sommerand,  you  can  rummage  and  ran- 
sack things  at  your  leisure.  In  the  other  rooms  are 
vases  and  caskets,  and  precious  cabinets,  a  spinette  of 
Marie  de  Medicis,  and  other  furniture  of  noble  dames; 
one  gets  tired  looking  at  their  trinkets ;  and  in  other 


CttARLOTfE  CORDAY.  217 

iroDms  ate  castings,  and  inlayings,  and  carvings,  and  so 
forth. 

I  now  took  madam  under  my  arm,  and  descending 
through  one  of  the  thousand  and  eighty  streets  of  Paris 
into  the  Rue  de  VEcole  Medecine,  deposited  her  at  her 
home.  You  should  never  pass  into  this  street  without 
stopping  awhile  to  contemplate  a  very  memorable  dwell- 
ing in  it— that  in  which  Charlotte  Corday  assassinated 
Marat.  One  owes  to  this  generous  maid  and  disinterested 
martyr  to  humanity,  a  tribute  in  approaching  its  thresh- 
old. The  house  is  also  otherwise  remarkable.  Danton 
used  to  call  here  of  a  morning  from  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs  upon  Marat,  and  then  they  went  arm  in  arm  to 
the  Convention  ;  and  Collet  d'Herbois,  the  actor — what 
memorable  names  !  and  Chabot  the  Capuchin,  Legendre 
the  butcher,  Chaumette  the  Atheist,  and  St.  Just  and 
Robespierre — used  to  hold  here  their  nightly  councils.  It 
would  puz2le  Beelzebub  to  get  up  such  another  club. 
Under  the  outer  doorway  are  remaining  the  letters 
*  *  or  D  *  *,  a  part  of  the  inscription  effaced,  "  Li- 
berty, Indivisibility,  or  Death  !" 

I  now  dined  and  traversed  leisurely  the  Place  du 
Panthion  homewards,  passing  through  the  Rue  de  V Es- 
trapade  into  the  Rue  des  Posies,  once  famous  for  its 
convents.  This  is  to  a  pious  man,  and  one  who  lives  a 
little  back  into  the  past,  a  holy  region  ;  it  is  consecrated 
by  religious  recollections  beyond  all  the  other  spots  of 
Paris.  Here,  in  this  single  "  Rue  des  Posies,"  was  the 
old  "  Convent  des  Dames  de  St.  Jlugustin"—"  des 
Dames  St.  Thomas,"— "des Dames  Ursulines,"—" des 
Dames  de  la  Visitation!"— "de  V Adoration  Perpe- 
tuelle,"  — «  du  St.  Sacrament."  —  Alas!  how  many 
pretty  women,  born  to  fulfil  a  better  destiny,  mewed  up 
vol.  I. — 19 


218  CONVENTS. 

in  perpetual  youth,  within  those  dismal  cloisters  !  Here, 
too,  were  the  convents  of  the  "  Filles  de  /' Immaculie 
Conception"— ■" de  la  St.  Providence"  and  finally, 
«  les  Filles  de  Bonne  VolontL"  It  is  the  very  region 
of  repentant  lovers,  of  heart-sick  maids,  and  of  all  the 
friars  and  holy  nuns  of  the  romances.  Towards  the 
close  of  a  summer's  evening,  one's  fancy  sees  nothing 
here  but  visions  and  spectres.  You  will  descend,  in  spite 
of  your  reason,  with  Madam  Radcliff,  into  the  subterra- 
nean chambers  of  the  convent,  and  into  the  solitary 
prisons,  where  you  will  see  poor  Ellena  and  her  iron 
table,  her  dead  lantern,  her  black  bread,  her  cruche  of 
water,  and  her  crucifix;  and  you  will  see  the  wretch 
Schedoni  bare  the  bosom  of  the  sleeping  maid,  and  hang- 
ing over  the  dagger.  It  is  his  own  miniature  ! — his  own 
daughter !  And  then  you  will  walk  through  the  long 
row  of  silent  monks,  and  smoky  tapers  in  the  funeral  of 
a  broken-hearted  sister,  the  sullen  bell  of  the  chapel 
giving  news  that  a  soul  has  fled. 

The  evening  was  still  and  solemn;  and  the  sun  just 
descending  on  your  side  of  the  globe  ;  and  lured  by  the 
novelty  of  the  place,  I  traveled  slowly  onwards  through 
a  narrow  lane  to  the  Faubourg  St.  Marceau.  This 
street  is  different  from  all  that  I  had  seen  in  Paris ;  it  is 
perhaps  different  from  anything  that  is  to  be  seen  upon 
the  earth.  The  houses  are  so  immensely  high  that  not 
a  ray  even  in  the  brightest  mid-day  reaches  the  pave- 
ment, which  is  covered  with  a  slimy  mud.  The  dark- 
ened and  grated  windows  give  to  the  houses  the  look 
of  so  many  prisons.  A  chilling  damp,  and  horrid  gloom 
invest  you  around ;  you  feel  stifled  for  want  of  air. 
Now  and  then  the  whine  of  a  dog,  or  the  wailing  of  a 
beggar,  interrupts  the  silence,  and  sometimes  a  Sister  of 


GLOOMY  STREET.  219 

Charity,  wrapped  in  her  hood  and  mantle,  passes  quick 
from  one  house  to  another.  I  went  out  willingly  of  this 
street,  growing  more  horrible  by  the  coming  night,  into 
the  purer  atmosphere  of  the  Seine.  And  thus  ended 
my  adventure  for  the  day. 


END  OF  VOL.  I. 


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